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I 


FOUND GUILTY 



FOUND GUILTY 



FRANK BARRETT 


AUTHOR OF 

“LOVE AND HONOR,” “A PRODIGAL’S PROGRESS,” “ KITTY’S FATHER." 

ETC. 



I 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth Street 
Chicago; 266 & 268 Wabash Avh. 


OF cn/v^ 

SEP 9 1892 

wash>w§ 3^ 

2 1 X 


T'L-i 


Copyright, 1892, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 


[A// rights reserved.'] 


c 


FOUND GUILTY. 


CHAPTER I. 

• FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THE REV. DR. BULLEN. 

My name is William Bullen ; I am a doctor in divinity, and 
parson of the parish of Orwell ; my age is sixty-three, and I 
have full possession of my faculties, thanks to Providence, 
which has endowed me with a robust constitution, and a 
moderate taste for the good things of this life. My wife has 
been dead twelve years, my daughters are married and gone 
from me, so I live in solitude, and lead a tranquil, but by no 
means an idle or an unhappy existence ; for besides that I 
have in the evening to prepare my Sunday’s sermon, and in 
the day have something like eight hundred souls to care for, 
scattered over a parish which I truly believe is the widest 
and wildest and the stoniest in this north-west country, I 
have a fair library of good books to dip into, and an excellent 
garden which I cultivate with my own hands, to my great 
delight — an occupation which needs no excuse, for surely 
there can be no purer pleasure, morally or materially, than 
to see the earth bearing beautiful blossoms from seed of our 
own setting. 

In the autumn of 1883 I heard that Beauchamp Moat had 
been sold to Dr. Norman Norman, of London, who intended 
to make it his residence as soon as the repairs needed to 
make it habitable were completed. 

Early in December I was told that the doctor and his wife 
had arrived, and I determined at once to visit them ; for not 
only was it obvious that Mrs. Norman as a stranger would 
be glad of my services in household matters relating to 
servants, tradesmen, etc., but it struck me that the doctor 


8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


himself might be glad of my company in the long winter 
evenings, as I certainly should be of his, intellectual society 
in my parish being of the scarcest. So the first fine morning 
I rubbed up my wits, put on my best, and trudged off, fore- 
casting the pleasant hours we might spend in discussing 
questions of science when the weather was not too bad to 
allow of visiting. The Moat lay in my parish, four ragged 
miles from the parsonage going over the hills, and six by the 
road, which is certainly the preferable way. Sorely out of 
breath with my rough scramble, I rang the bell at Beauchamp 
Moat, and while waiting for admittance had ample time to 
look about me. 

The house stood at the foot of a hill, a hundred yards or 
so from the old London road. It was a fine specimen of am 
old fortified dwelling-house ; picturesque, doubtless, but the 
most desolate place I have ever seen. Looking around, 
nothing was to be seen but the bare hills and pine woods 
— no house nor sign of living creature. The deserted road 
— now no more than a grass-grown alley through the woods, 
the new road having diverted all traffic — lent additional soli- 
tude to the old house, which bore evidence of neglect and 
abandonment. 

An empty moat surrounded the quadrangular building, 
and was crossed by a crumbling bridge, in which straggling 
briars and trailing brambles had taken root. One side of 
the house was little better than a ruin ; the roof had fallen 
in here and there, and the walls seemed to be supported by 
the gigantic ivy which covered them from basement to gable. 
The three remaining sides of the quadrangle had been better 
preserved ; fresh painting in the old, worn bricks showed 
where the ivy had been ; some new tiles were conspicuous 
by contrast with the old in the long, sloping roof overgrown 
with moss and house-leek. The upper story overhung the 
lower in the Early English style ; the leaden-latticed win- 
dows were long, narrow, and irregular. The bridge led to 
a gateway pierced in the side of the house ; through the 
opening I saw the courtyard within the quadrangle covered 
with a rank growth of weeds and nettles ; a poppy with 
brown seed-pods on the rigid stem stood in the mouldering 
brickwork of a sundial. 

But for some cotton blinds in one or two of the windows 
I should have thought the house still uninhabited ; so life- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


9 


less and silent it was, I could hear the “ pat-pat” of the water 
falling from the eaves upon the sodden leaves in the moat. 
The doctor and his wife must have stout hearts, thought I, 
to come here at such a season to live. And I imagined how 
weird and ghostly it would look when the mist settled in the 
valley, how dismal it would be in the night when rain pat- 
tered against the windows and the wind sighed and moaned 
in the fir-trees ; how terrifying when the gale shook the old 
windows, rattling the loose panes in the leaden sashes, and 
strange sounds came from the ruined wing, as a tile dropped 
upon the rotting floors within, or a loose timber creaked 
under the weight of the twining ivy. 

I was about to ring again, when a sallow young woman 
came through the gateway, her sleeves tucked up, and wiping 
her wet hands on her coarse apron. She came to the little 
wicket that barred the bridge, and, as she merely shook her 
head, pointing to the house, I concluded that she was a deaf- 
mute. Understanding the manual alphabet, I asked her for 
her mistress with my fingers. 

“ Out,” she replied, by the same means. 

“ Has she gone to Barstow or Lipley ? ” I asked. 

“ Neither,” she replied. 

Concluding that the doctor and his wife had merely gone 
for a walk, and feeling that a short rest would do me no harm, 
I told her I would step in and wait until her mistress returned. 
She hesitated a moment, and then, with that respect which 
young people brought up in public institutions usually ex- 
hibit for the clergy, she unbolted the gate, and led me into a 
sitting-room, where she left me, not ill-pleased, as it seemed 
to me, to make her escape. 

It was a long room, gloomy by reason of the smallness of 
the windows, the heavy beams and rafters that traversed the 
ceiling, the dark wainscot, and the black floor-boards. The 
furniture consisted of four plain caned chairs and a couple 
of square tables. There were cotton blinds to the windows, 
and a square of cheap felt carpet on the floor. There was 
no glass, no pictures, no ornament of any kind ; but a work- 
basket on one of the tables indicated that it was Mrs. Nor- 
man’s living-room. It appeared to me they must be very 
poor or very stoical. I conjectured that they might have 
retired to this isolated place to carry out scientific researches, 
having outgrown the taste for lighter pleasures which is in- 


lO 


FOUND GUILTY. 


herent in youth. Possibly Mrs. Norman assisted her husband 
in his studies. 

I waited there until I was rested, and the gloom became 
intolerable ; then I went out into the courtyard, which I 
found scarcely less depressing than the room I had left. 

The very nettles seemed languishing for want of air and 
sunlight ; some tiles blown from the broken roof lay upon the 
matted weeds and dead grass. The builders had left a pile 
of rubbish against a disused door ; green moss upon the 
casement showed where the water trickled from the broken 
gutter under the eaves. 

In one corner of the quadrangle stood an old-fashioned 
gig, with a projecting hood, and two faded green curtains 
running on a cross rod, which might be drawn for the further 
protection of the driver. It was plentifully bespattered with 
mud, and the deaf-mute was cleaning it with a mop. It 
struck me that she had been cleaning it when I rang ; but in 
that case how, being deaf and not in sight of the gate, had 
she known I was there ? I looked round at the building 
which enclosed the courtyard on its four sides. 

New boarding showed where the ruined side had been 
cut off from the habitable parts. Of these three sides, one 
was distinct from the rest, having no overhanging story, but 
three tall, lancet-headed windows, which gave it the appear- 
ance of a chapel or ancient refectory. Blinds of green chintz 
masked the interior. 

My curiosity was leading me towards this wing, when I 
heard an inarticulate cry behind me, and, turning, found the 
deaf-mute running towards me. 

“That is the laboratory,” she told me with her hands, 
“ Nobody mustn’t go near it.” 

I did not attempt to penetrate this mystery, but walked 
quietly up and down the court until the feeling of melancholy 
inspired by the dismal place became intolerable ; then, leav- 
ing a civil message with the girl, I went away, not without a 
suspicion that she had been instructed to tell me a falsehood, 
and that Dr. Norman did not wish to see me. And so I went 
home with my pleasant hopes dispelled, and having had a 
long walk for nothing. 

I waited a week, in the hope that my visit would be ac- 
knowledged, and then, not to be too easily overthrown, I 
trudged again to the Moat. From the brow of the hill over- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


1 1 

looking the house I saw the hooded gig cross the bridge, and 
pass through the gateway into the courtyard. 

After this, when the deaf-mute, in some embarrassment, 
told me no one was at home, there was no mistaking matters. 
As I toiled home I did my best to judge my new parishioners 
not unjustly ; but the best I could think of them was that they 
were two crabbed scientists, who disliked all society, or 
deemed that there was no profit to be made from acquaint- 
ance with a simple old country parson. 

I was so firmly impressed with the notion that they must 
be old, that I could scarcely believe my senses when, a few 
weeks later, seeing a quiet young woman with the deaf-mute 
in Lipley, I was told that she was Mrs. Norman. 

She looked not older than twenty-six, but there were signs 
of suffering, ill-health, or anxiety in her face which might 
have made her seem older by several years than she actually 
was. She was of medium height, with a fair complexion, 
reddish-brown hair, and pretty features. There was no strik- 
ing sign of intelligence in her face, no confident air expressive 
of self-reliance — nothing, in short, to justify the belief that 
she could share the scientific pursuits of her husband ; noth- 
ing whatever in common with my idea of a learned woman. 
Her appearance excited my pity rather than respect. She 
seemed desirous of avoiding observation, walking quickly with 
her head down. When her servan't directed her attention to 
me, she abruptly crossed the road. She was dressed in old 
and dull clothes, with no attempt at personal adornment — 
no smart bow, or bright color, with which a young and pretty 
woman by natural instinct sets off her charms. This care- 
less self-neglect and indifference to the world was in itself 
most touching to my eyes, which love to dwell on the hap- 
piness of youth. 

She turned out of the High Street, and I lost sight of her, 
but later on I saw her pale, scared face in the deep shade, as 
she sat back in the old hooded gig, with one of the faded 
curtains half drawn. 

What could I do ? I called once more at the Moat, received 
the same reply to my inquiries as before, and there I felt 
my efforts must stop until the doctor or his wife made an 
advance. 

What inquiries were not unjustifiable I made. I dis- 
covered that Dr. Norman was a young and good-looking man, 


12 


FOUND GUILTY. 


another disillusion ! From time to time he was seen at 
Barstow Station. He came in the hooded gig with the deaf- 
mute, who left him and then returned to the Moat alone. 
At the end of five or six days the girl drove to the station, 
her master arrived by the train from London, and they went 
away together as they had come. On no occasion had Mrs. 
Norman been seen with her husband. She remained at the 
Moat alone with the deaf-mute while her husband was away ; 
no one ever visited her in his absence, or when he was at 
home. There was no servant but the deaf-mute ; they lived 
in perfect solitude. 

It was not for me to interfere ; but many a time during the 
long winter evenings, as I sat in my easy-chair by a bright 
fire, surrounded by my books and personal comforts, and 
listened to the wind sweeping the sleet and rain against my 
windows, I thought of that young wife sitting alone in the 
dismal sitting-room of that ghostly and desolate ruin of a 
house. 

Winter and spring passed without the occurrence of any 
event to throw light on the mystery of Beauchamp Moat. 

One bright afternoon in June, when I was busy in my 
garden, old Elizabeth, my servant, brought me a card, and 
told me that a lady and gentleman were in the best room wait- 
ing to see me. 

On the card was printed : 

“ Captain V. Bromley, 

Junior United Service ClubJ 

And above in pencil was written : 

“ Mrs. Norman Norman, 

Beauchamp Afoat.” 

I hurried in, slipping off my garden gloves, put on my 
better coat, and went to my visitors. 

My first look was at Mrs. Norman. There was a flush of 
color in her cheeks, as she timidly put her hand into mine — 
for I would not be satisfied with a mere formal bow — which 
improved her vastly ; but that which pleased me more to see 
was that her dress, though old and faded, was arranged with 
care, while a little frilling here, a little lace there, gave a cer- 
tain smartness to it which it had altogether lacked when I 


FOUND GUILTY. 


13 

saw her before. I said to myself that she could not be ut- 
terly unhappy to think of those trifles. 

I then looked at Captain Bromley, who took my hand with 
that firm grip which I like to feel when shaking hands with 
a man. 

He was a fine, handsome man of two-and-thirty or there- 
abouts, tall and broad, with vigor in his well-knit frame, 
dignity in his carriage, health in his fair, clear skin, and hon- 
esty in his well-opened blue eyes. He had a good moustache, 
a broad forehead, and his light hair, though closely cut, had 
a little wave in it. Altogether I was well pleased with his 
appearance, and not less with his frank, open manner. 

He said he had come from London on the 17th — it was now 
the 2 2d — and intended staying at Beauchamp Moat some 
weeks. 

“ Dr. Norman is so engrossed in his studies,” added he, 
“ that I took the first opportunity of making your acquaint- 
ance ; for I have been used to the society of men, and I shall 
be glad, when Mrs. Norman cannot give me her company, to 
seek yours.” 

This may have been true, but I suspected that his visit was 
made for Mrs. Norman’s sake, and with a view of providing 
her with a friend when he was gone. 

I made a suitable reply, and then asked what study it was 
which so engrossed Dr. Norman. 

“ Upon my honor, I can’t tell you,” he replied, with a laugh ; 
and then, turning to Mrs. Norman, he asked : “ What does 
Norman do in that laboratory, Edith ? ” 

“ He has never told me,” she replied slowly. “ I do not 
know, Val dear.” 

This was a strange revelation. Fcr six months they had 
been living together under the same roof, and the wife knew 
nothing of that which occupied her husband from morning 
till night ! Was it apathy on her part, want of confidence on 
his, or indifference on both sides ? 

I turned the conversation into a pleasanter channel. 

Mrs. Norman was silent at first, fearing possibly that she 
had offended me by her former rebuff to my advances ; but 
this shyness wore off as she saw that I was amicably disposed 
towards her. Thus it rested upon Captain Bromley to sustain 
the conversation ; but he contrived to generalize the talk, so 
as to include her in it, and this in such an easy and graceful 


14 


FOUND GUILTY. 


manner that I felt sure he had been used to the society of 
ladies as well as men. 

It was curious to observe the eagerness with which she 
listened to every word he spoke, and her admiration of all he 
said. This, together with the affectionate terms in which she 
addressed him, led me to surmise that they were nearly re- 
lated ; nor was I far wrong, for it presently fell out that she 
was his foster-sister. 

When we had gossiped for some time, I led them round my 
garden, taking with me a hand-basket and a pair of scissors ; 
and as my roses, which were at their very best, gave Mrs. 
Norman delight, I snipped off the best blossoms and laid 
them in my basket, so that by the time we had come to the 
end of our little tour I had a collection of roses which any 
man might be proud of. 

We went out by the side-gate into the road, where the queer 
old gig was standing, and, having helped Mrs. Norman into 
her seat, I put my basket of roses into her hands with a little 
speech. The poor young wife took them with an exclamation 
of joy, and then essayed to thank me as she pressed my hand ; 
but emotion overcame her, and she drew back into the shade 
of the hood to conceal the tears that started to her eyes. 

It touched my heart to see her so moved by such a trifle 
as the gift of a few flowers. However, I pretended to see 
nothing of her agitation, and said I would call on Saturday 
for the hand-basket. 

As they went their way, I returned to my garden, much 
troubled to think of the wretched position of this young wife, 
married to a man who evidently cared more for science than 
for her, but it was some consolation to reflect that she had a 
good friend in her foster-brother. I determined to do the 
best that lay in my power to alleviate her sorrows. 

On Saturday I walked again to Beauchamp Moat, and was 
astonished to find the alterations which had been made, and 
were still in progress there. The old sashes had been taken 
out of the dwelling-rooms, the casements enlarged, and fine 
large French windows of plate-glass let in, which, though they 
took off from the picturesqueness of the outside, added im- 
mensely to the comfort of those who dwelt within. The court- 
yard had been cleared of weeds, a large raised bed made 
around the dial, and gardeners were busy planting it with 
geranium, calceolaria, and other bright plants. Within the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


5 


change was greater still. The cheap and ugly furniture was 
gone. A soft, rich Persian carpet and several skins and furs 
covered the floor ; there were elegant curtains to the win- 
dows, luxurious easy-chairs, and an abundance of ornaments 
everywhere in mirror, cabinet, brackets, blue crockeryware, 
brass things and the like, with my roses displayed to the best 
advantage ; so that what had been a most ugly room, un- 
pleasant to stay in but for a quarter of an hour, was now a 
gay and bright apartment, where with a choice of books — of 
which there was a handsome row in a case — one might be 
well content to sit alone for a whole day or more. 

Everything was brand-new, and I learnt that on the day 
Captain Bromley and Mrs. Norman visited me, they had 
been into Lipley and bought all that was handsome there — 
at whose expense it was not difficult to guess. 

Mrs. Norman was in exuberant spirits, and, no longer 
timid, took me from place to place, directing my admiration 
from one thing to another with a glee which gave me much 
concern ; for it was not the placid content of a woman and 
a wife, but rather the feverish reactionary joy of a child 
suddenly released from punishment and taken into favor — 
a joy into which no memory of the past, no thought of the 
future, was allowed to enter. 

There was an abrupt check to her gaiety, and she shrank 
with dread behind Captain Bromley, as the sound of approach- 
ing steps in the adjoining room fell upon our ears. 

The door opened and a workman entered. 

“ I thought it was Norman,” she said, sinking into a chair 
with hysterical laughter, as the man withdrew, apologizing 
for his intrusion. 

When the time came for returning to my house Captain 
Bromley had the hooded gig brought out, and insisted upon 
carrying me back to Orwell. 

“ Well, sir,” said I, when we were on our road, “ and what 
does Dr. Norman say to all these improvements ? ” 

“ Nothing at all,” replied Captain Bromley. “ I don’t 
think he would care if I pulled the whole place down, so 
long as I left his laboratory standing, and ” 

He checked himself. 

“ And paid the workmen,” added I mentally, my mind 
being greatly prejudiced against the young doctor. 

“ Besides,” he pursued, “ it has nothing whatever to do 


FOUND GUILTY. 


i6 

with him. The house belongs to Edith, and all I have put 
in it is a wedding present to her.” 

“Ah, Mrs. Norman chose that house fora residence.?” 
said I interrogatively. 

“ No, her husband chose the house ; all she had to do was 
to pay for it and live in it. I was in Egypt when she 
married.” 

Captain Bromley spoke with a bitterness which implied 
that she should not have married him had he been at home. 

“ Mrs. Norman did not consult your views with regard to 
her marriage ? ” I hinted. 

“ No ; unfortunately she consulted only her own inclina- 
tion. She was infatuated with Norman — he can make him- 
self exceedingly agreeable when it suits him — and married 
him in direct opposition to my mother’s wishes.” 

“Mrs. Norman, then, had money of her own.?” said I 
tentatively. 

“ Not a penny ; that increased her confidence in Norman 
when he proposed that she should marry in defiance of my 
mother. But he had gauged my mother’s affection for 
Edith with scientific accuracy, and knew she would forgive 
Edith when she was in trouble. The trouble came when 
his money was gone and his credit exhausted. He talked 
of going to America and sending her back to her old home. 
The prospect of being an object of pity and derision to her 
former rivals was insupportable to Edith ; she implored my 
mother’s forgiveness and help ; my mother settled ten 
thousand pounds upon her, and this was what Dr. Norman 
Norman had schemed for. With four or five hundred a year 
he can carry out studies which may ultimately make him 
famous and wealthy — he is undoubtedly clever — and he 
can save enough by economy here to pay for a week’s 
pleasure among his old friends in London when he feels the 
necessity for relaxation from the labors of his laboratory. 
There is no need to make a secret of this, for he tacitly 
admits the truth of all I have charged him with.” 

“ This places his wife in a deplorable condition,” said I. 

“Deplorable indeed. I wish with all my heart they had 
separated ; but he is not likely to offer her that chance 
again, now that she has so much per quarter to give him.” 

“ But,” said I, “ the money is hers ; she can surely stipulate 
that it shall be employed for her own happiness as well as his.” 


FOUND GUILTY, 


17 


“ She make stipulations with him ! ” exclaimed Captain 
Bromley. “ No more than the lamb that went into partner- 
ship with the wolf. She is weak, he is strong. She would 
yield to the guidance of a child. It has been the business of 
his life to overcome obstacles. How, then, can she cope 
with him } If one could give her strength there would be 
some hope, and that is why. Dr. Bullen, I have spoken out 
in this plain way. You can do more for her than I. You 
can encourage a feeling of self-reliance, whilst all that I do, I 
fear, only increases her feeling of dependence.” 

I promised to do my best ; but the task before me was 
more difficult than we imagined. 

When Captain Bromley was present, Mrs. Norman would 
not listen to me, nor was it much better when he was absent ; 
for then she was dull and abstracted, and lent an inattentive 
ear to my homely discourse. She did not want to think of 
the future, when her foster-brother would no longer be there. 
And I soon perceived that her whole thought was how to 
retain him. 

Coquettish, as most pretty young women are by nature, she 
employed all her fascinations to please Captain Bromley 
— from no ill motive, I am convinced, but simply with the 
view of making his stay agreeable. 

She dressed her hair in a dozen different ways. She 
must have sat up through the night to make so much variety 
in her scant stock of dresses. One day I felt convinced that 
the color upon her cheeks was artificial. 

Whatever secret anxiety she had, she would not let it appear 
upon her face in his presence ; she was never without a 
smile or a bright reply when he spoke to her. She studied 
his tastes and wishes, his thoughts, without letting her 
solicitude be seen by him ; she k^new as well as the deep- 
est philosopher that smiles have greater influence than 
tears. All her arts were employed simply to put off the 
terrible day of separation, when she should be left alone 
once more in that terrible solitude. But there was a worse 
misfortune before her than this, which neither of these 
innocent persons foresaw. One who has the souls of men in 
his care must look ahead and on either side for perils to avoid. 

I saw a whirlpool of passion towards which the current of 
events seemed to be Carrying these two. 

That a strong affection had always existed between Captain 

2 


i8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Bromley and his adoptive sister was certain ; but I had good 
reason to suppose that on his part the feeling had been 
stronger than affection, and that it had been his intention, 
and his mother’s wish also, that Edith should be his wife 
when he returned from Egypt. He might have stifled his 
passion, but was it not liable to burst out afresh under present 
influences ? Captain Bromley was without occupation. A 
wound had forced him to retire from the service. He was 
an idle gentleman, fresh from the dangerous teaching of mess- 
room and club, where virtue is treated lightly, and infldelity 
is thought the fittest subject for a farce. Might he not be 
tempted to seize the treasure thrown in his way by a careless 
husband .? 

I observed, with growing uneasiness, a distinct change in 
his attitude. When his eyes dwelt on Mrs. Norman it was 
with pleasure, not with pity. He was less grave and an- 
xious in his short references to her future — as if he also wished 
to dismiss the thought of separation. And there was a tone 
of gallantry in his conversation with her perfectly justifiable 
and perfectly harmless in itself, but indicative of a state of 
feeling which had not existed in the early days of his visit. 

I had great reliance on Captain Bromley’s honor ; but I 
determined to keep a sharp eye on him all the same, and 
speak my mind plainly if I found it were necessary. 

“ He asked me to be a friend to Mrs. Norman,” said I to 
myself, “ and I will not fail in the duties of a friend.” 

So I went times out of number to the Moat, at the risk of 
being troublesome, and stayed there when it was obvious 
that Mrs. Norman, at least, did not want me. A new discovery 
added to my anxiety. 

One day, as I was plodding along the road between Lipley 
and Faulcondale, I was passed by a pony-chaise. 

In the rumble behind was a fat servant-girl, asleep. On 
the driver’s seat sat Miss Howard, the most beautiful and 
the wealthiest young lady in the county, and by her side was 
Captain Bromley. Miss Howard with smiling, downcast eyes 
was listening to him as he gazed upon her beautiful face and 
talked. So they passed without noticing me. 

And now I felt convinced that he was a lady-killer, and 
the more dangerous because he did not mean to do mischief. 

“But what,” thought I, as I stood in the road looking after 
them, “what if I am mistaken in my judgment, as many wiser 


FOUND GUILTY. 


9 


men have been before me ? What if Captain Bromley does 
know the mischief he is doing, and is simply careless of the 
consequences ? ” 


CHAPTER II. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

It is difficult to speak impartially of past events under 
present impressions, but I will try to do so by reference to 
my diary, which naturally presents the facts as I perceived 
them at the time. 

I first saw Mr. Everleigh at Easter, 1883. He was staying 
at the Dolphin, the best inn in the village, and the one where 
artists who come to paint the beautiful scenery round about 
Faulcondale stop. I was passing the inn in my chaise when 
he arrived, and the innkeeper was taking his portmanteau 
out of the Barstow fly. He did not look like an artist, for he 
wore gloves, and was very neatly dressed, and his coat fitted 
him, whereas an artist always looks as though he had got into 
somebody else’s old jacket to save his own. And he did not 
stare at me quite so hard as artists usually do. There is so 
little variety in country society that the arrival of a stranger 
is always interesting. That is my excuse for wondering who 
this gentleman could be. But I knew we should see more 
of him, for no one ever stops at the Dolphin without making 
acquaintance with Professor Schlobach, my guardian ; he is 
so hospitably inclined, and so quick to see the good points 
in a person’s character, that by the time he has exchanged a 
dozen sentences with a gentleman he is convinced there never 
was one more estimable in all the world — except my father 
— and straightway invites him to dinner. And this invitation 
I never knew an artist to refuse. And sure enough, when my 
dear old professor returned from his afternoon walk round the 
village, he brought the new visitor with him. 

But Mr. Everleigh was not an artist. He was a clerk in a 
Government office with a taste for entomology, and had come 
to Faulcondale to search for an insect peculiar to the district. 
Plearing at the inn that my guardian was a naturalist, he had 
introduced himself with a view of getting information. He 


20 


FOUND OUILTY. 


Stayed a week at Faulcondale. Every day he went out with 
the professor, and the evenings he spent with us. He was 
very agreeable, and very attentive ; he talked ably upon any 
subject that occurred, and had many interesting anecdotes of 
celebrated people in London, with whom he seemed to be 
well acquainted. I think we were all sorry when he left, and 
glad when he promised to come again in a few weeks. 

His next visit was in May; he stayed three days with us, 
for we would not hear of his going to an inn ; he came again 
for four days at the end of the month, for, being a Government 
clerk, he had not much to do, and could arrange to take a 
few days’ holiday frequently. We liked him better on the 
second visit than on the first, and even better on the third, 
and therein he differed greatly from our artistic friends ; for 
these young gentlemen were always very light and lively at 
first, and became very dull and flat towards the last, having 
exhausted all their brilliancy in the first display, like a set 
piece of fireworks. He seemed to be sincere. He did not 
seem to force himself to please ; his graceful compliments 
were natural, and though he was never failing in courteous 
attention to me, he never carried his attentions beyond the 
limits of courtesy. 

As I am to conceal nothing here, I must confess that I 
thought it possible that he would one day make me an offer 
of marriage. And this possibility was not displeasing to me. 

He was well connected, his manners were those of a gentle- 
man by birth and education, and his position appeared to be 
equal to mine, for up to that time I believed my fortune to be 
no more than my guardian could give me out of the sum left 
to him by my father for my education. 

It was after Mr. Everleigh’s third visit we discovered that 
my father had left a quarter of a million of money which 
would probably be mine on the day of my marriage. 

On the 15th of June Mr. Everleigh came again. He told 
us he had arranged to take a week’s holiday. In the 
evening the professor told him of the remarkable discovery 
that had been made. He congratulated me, but I fancied 
he spoke with restraint, and the next day it seemed to me 
he was more formal and less at his ease in talking to me, 
from which I concluded that the change in my fortune had 
altered his prospects. His extreme sensibility made him 
recoil from a position where his motives might be misunder* 


FOUND GUILTY. 


21 


Stood, and he wished me to understand that the disparity in 
our fortunes precluded him from the hope of making me'his 
wife. All this seemed to be over-strained delicacy, but I 
could attribute the marked alteration in his behavior to no 
other cause. 

On the morning of the 17th he actually avoided me, to 
my great annoyance, for it certainly implied his belief that 
my feelings towards him were governed by sordid motives, 
which was an injustice, for if money were to form a barrier 
between me and my friends, I heartily wished I had none. 

Being left alone, and feeling hurt, I had my horse saddled, 
and leaving word that I should return to dinner, I went for 
a good long ride to shake off my ill-humor. 

After following the road nearly as far as Barstow', I took 
the bridle-path that winds round the hill we call “ Old Hump,” 
and had just come in sight of Faulcondale valley, where our 
village was indicated by a thin veil of blue smoke that hung 
over the still elms, when I found a very unexpected obstacle 
in my path. 

At this point the little stream which for some distance 
follows the course of the narrow bridle-path along the side of 
the hill spreads into a shallow pool, and turns under abridge 
to fall down the hill in a ravine it has cut for itself. The 
bridge is no more than a yard wide, and scarcely a foot above 
the water that runs under it. A young man had coolly 
stretched himself along the bridge, and lay there with one 
foot in the water, his hat drawn over his eyes, his elbows set 
on the ground, and his chin resting on the palms of his 
hands. It was very hot and still ; except the little stream, 
all nature seemed to have fallen asleep, and this young man 
with it. Perhaps the noise of the falling water prevented 
him from hearing my approach ; at any rate, he made no 
movement when the horse came to a stand a few feet from 
him. 

I could have gone through the pool, but I did not feel dis- 
posed to do that ; so I quietly waited till he should see me 
and get out of my way. 

Coquelicot, my dear old horse, seemed to be turning the 
matter over in his mind, for he stretched out his head, regard- 
ing the young man, and twitching his ears to and fro for some 
time ; then he gave a little whinny, as if to say, “ Now then, 
young man, what’s the matter here ? ” 


22 


FOUND GUILTY. 


At this sound the young man drew back one arm, and, 
turning his face up, looked at me, but with such assurance 
that I set him down for an artist at once. Any other ordi- 
nary young man would have jumped up in confusion with a 
thousand apologies. He did not attempt to move, but when 
I gave an impatient flick with my riding-whip, he said with 
the utmost composure : 

“ The stream is not deep, and there is room between the 
rock and the bridge for you and your nag to pass.” 

“ I know that,” said I, very angry indeed, for besides his 
request — insolent as it seemed — that I should get out of his 
way, it was the first time I had heard my dear old Coquelicot 
called a nag. 

“ You’re not afraid to go through the water ? ” he asked. 

I made no reply ; I simply waited for him to move. I 
must have looked terribly angry. 

“ The fact is,” he pursued, “ I don’t see how you’re to cross 
the bridge whilst I am on it.” 

“ Then you will see the advisability of getting off,” said 
I ; “ for I assure you I intend to cross by that bridge and 
by no other way ! ” And indeed, I was so incensed that, 
had he not moved, I would have put Coquelicot at the bridge, 
even though he should go over the side and throw me. 

“ Rather than be jumped upon,” said he, with mock gravity, 
“ I will get out of your way ; restrain your steed for one mo- 
ment, and ” 

He stopped with a wince, and a stifled cry of pain ; for in 
raising his foot he had struck it against an unseen projection 
in the side of the bridge. I saw his eyes close as he bit his 
lips, and the color go out of his face. Then he dropped 
forward heavily on his elbow. 

I perceived then that he was gravely hurt, and had been 
lying along the bridge from necessity rather than caprice. 
With a sharp pang of self-reproach, such as I too often 
feel through the consequence of ungoverned temper, I threw 
myself out of the saddle, and putting out my hands to sup- 
port his sinking head as I dropped on my knees beside him, 
I cried : 

“ Heaven forgive me ! I did not know you were hurt.” 

“ Omy a sprain,” he said, attempting to laugh as he raised 
nimself ; “ caught my foot in a bramble, and came down the 
hill at a run.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


23 


He glanced up the steep hillside covered with loose stones, 
interspersed with tufts of broom and furze, and trailing briars. 
His lips were livid, and he trembled as he spoke. Despite 
the assumed carelessness with which he spoke, I saw that he 
was giddy and faint. 

“ There, stay like that only a moment,” said I, and running 
round to the edge of the pool, I filled my hat — which was a 
formless felt that could be knocked into shape, and became 
me, as I thought — with water. I carried the water back, put 
my hat in a hollow while I stripped off my gloves, and then, 
scooping the water up in the palms of my hands, I bathed 
his temples and forehead with it. That seemed to bring life 
and strength back to him. 

“That is good,” said he, looking up gratefully. And then 
he smiled as he looked at me, for doubtless, now that I felt 
sorry for him and a little ashamed of myself, I looked a little 
nicer than when I sat on Coquelicot frowning, and hating 
him with all my heart. 

“ I am all right now,” he said presently. 

I nodded and smiled, for I was glad to think I had helped 
to restore him, and then I unfolded my handkerchief and 
wiped the water from his face. 

He was as meek as a child, and submitted to this treat- 
ment gratefully. I felt that he also deserved reproach, so 
I said : 

“ You ought to have told me you were hurt at the first.” 

“ I dare say I should have done so,” said he, “ had you 
looked then as you look now. I did not give you credit for 
the virtue of a good Samaritan ; I fancied that if the bridge 
had given way and toppled me down into the valley you 
would have been pleased.” 

“ So I should,” said I, “ just for a minute.” 

He laughed, and said : 

“ Now I wonder if that’s the key-note of your character ? ” 

I felt that it was, but wouldn’t say so. 

“ Who could have imagined,” said I, “ that you were in 
pain, seeing you there quite still and composed ? ” 

“Well, you see,” he replied, “I couldn’t very well jump 
about, so sitting still was excusable. And the best thing a 
man can do is to take his trouble with composure, unless he 
has a Frenchman’s faculty for weeping. Thank you ever so 
much for your kindness,” he added, holding out his hand. 


24 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ You don’t think I am going to leave you here alone ? ” 
said I. 

“ I’m sure you wouldn’t if you could do me any good by 
staying, but as you may find someone below who may help me 
to get along, I think you will.” 

“ Have you far to go ? ” I asked. 

He replied that he had to go to Beauchamp Moat, which 
is four or five miles from Faulcondale. 

“ That is a long way,” said I. 

“ It will be all right when I get down to that village,” said 
he, nodding towards Faulcondale ; ‘‘ I can get a cart to carry 
me over.” 

“ But it is three miles to the village,” I said. 

“ You will send a man or a couple of lads to help me ? ” 

I considered for a moment what it would be best to do, 
and then, an idea coming into my head, I asked him if 
he thought he could go down the hill on my horse. He 
looked at dear old Coquelicot, who had fallen asleep, and 
was nodding his head every now and then like a Christian, 
and replied : “ I am not much of a horseman just at present, 
but I think I can do that.” 

“ Then there is no need to wait for clumsy boys to help 
you,” said I. “ Don’t move ; I see how it is to be done.” 
And with that I woke up Coquelicot, and led him into the 
water alongside the bridge. “ Now,” said I, “ you have only 
just to slip carefully on his back.” 

“ Like that,” he said, and, suiting the action to the word, 
he seated himself in the saddle. “ But you 1 ” he added, in 
a tone of anxiety. 

“I shall walk, of course,” said I. “Will you have my 
whip ? ” 

“ Well, for the sake of appearances,” said he, taking it. 

We went down the hill, he on Coquelicot, and I walking 
beside, with my skirt in one hand and my wet hat in the 
other, and we were both silent, for I was wondering what 
sort of a person he really was, and perhaps he was making 
similar speculations with regard to me. I fancied that he 
certainly must be an artist because of his boldness, but 
there was nothing offensive in his manner, only that it net- 
tled me a little ; for it was the grand air of a prince finding 
himself under obligations to a peasant, and I was not a 
peasant either by birth or look. I had a riding skirt, a silk 


FOUND GUILTY. 


25 


jersey, and mousquetaire gloves that came to my elbows ; 
and a peasant would have worn a showy hat, whereas I was 
content with a plain felt hat, the only ornament on it being a 
pheasant’s feather, but which suited my face well. He was 
very handsome, his hands were delicate, his dress was well- 
fitting-^that made me doubtful whether he was an artist 
after all. “ But if he has been used to the society of the 
grandest ladies in the world, he cannot mistake me for a 
farmer’s daughter,” thought I. ‘ 

‘‘You will drop me at that hut, on the right,” said he, after 
a time ; “ the path is wide enough here for a cart.” 

“ No, I shall take you home,” said I ; “we have a chaise 
— that will be better for you than a cart.” 

“ And where is your home ? ” he said. 

I pointed out the old farmhouse in the distance. 

“ That is a long way yet,” said he ; “ you will be tired.” 

“ Do you think I am a child } ” I asked, with a little in- 
dignation. 

“ Now and then,” he replied. 

I asked him why. 

“ I can hardly tell you,” said he, smiling ; “ perhaps it is 
because you don’t want to be thought a child.” 

“ 1 suppose no one who wishes to be more than she is, 
likes to be thought something less,” said I, after reflecting 
on his words. 

“ I suppose not, even though she were a much older and 
wiser philosopher than you,” he returned. 

“ I don’t pretend to be a philosopher,” said I. 

“ Nor a dairymaid, either ” 

“ Oh, we have nothing whatever to do with the farm,” 
said I, “ except that we live in the farmhouse.” 

“ May I ask who ‘ we ’ are } ” 

I told him that my guardian was Professor Schlobach, 
the entomologist ; and that my name was Howard, that I 
had been christened Dorothea, but was called Doris. 

“ A very pretty name,” said he. “ My name is Bromley ; 
I was christened Valentine, and some people call me Val.” 

I would say no more, for his tone of pleasantry offended 
the self-love with which I was endowed to an inordinate 
extent, and so we marched on in silence till we came to the 
foot of the hill and struck the road. I went in advance and 
swung back the meadow gate ; he passed through, and we 


26 


FOUND GUILTY. 


crossed the meadow to the rick-yard, whence we can see the 
gables and upper windows of our old house over the private 
hedge that surrounds the garden. The side gate of the gar- 
den was open, and two gentlemen were standing by it. 

“ There is my guardian and Mr. Everleigh,” said I. 

Turning my head quickly I found Captain Bromley look- 
ing at me ; before he could fix his eyes in the direction in- 
dicated, Mr. Everleigh was gone. 

“Is that Mr. Everleigh ? ” he asked. 

“ No, that is my professor. Mr. Everleigh has just turned 
back into the garden.’* 

He looked puzzled, and as I had mentioned Mr. Ever- 
leigh’s name, I felt it necessary to add that he was a friend 
of my professor, and like him an entomologist. 

“ If he resembles your professor,” said Captain Bromley, 
looking at my dear old guardian with good-humor in his 
eyes, “ I shall be glad to know him.” 

I know now that, involuntarily, I had led him to suppose 
by my description that Mr. Everleigh was an elderly man of 
science like my professor. 

But for that fatal misconception the most deplorable dis- 
asters might have been averted. 


CHAPTER III. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

I MUST say something about Professor Schlobach and 
myself, that our relations with Mr. Everleigh and Captain 
Bromley may be understood, and that my guardian’s sim- 
plicity and my folly may not appear incredible to persons 
of more extended experience. 

In 1876 I was twelve years old, and a boarder in Miss 
Brougham’s school in Devonshire. 

One day Miss Brougham fetched me from the class-room, 
and, telling me a friend of my father’s had come to see me, 
and I must prepare myself for dreadful news, she took me 
into my room and made me change my frock and brush my 


FOUND GUILTY. 


27 

hair. When I was presentable, she took me into the draw- 
ing-room, and introduced me to Professor Schlobach. 

We were disappointed with each other at first sight. I, 
who had the greatest admiration for my father, expected to 
find his friend with a handsome and noble presence, which 
this middle-aged gentleman, with his short legs and large 
face, certainly had not ; and he had hoped to find an image 
of his dear friend in me, and I was not at all like him, for 
he had a fair complexion and gray eyes, whilst my skin was 
of a dark tint, my eyes as black as jet, and, to complete the 
dissimilitude, my nose was arched. 

I saw his countenance fall, but it was only that first glance 
that chilled him. Before Miss Brougham had finished say- 
ing “ This is Mr. Howard’s daughter Dorothea,” he took me 
in his arms, and, hugging me to him, exclaimed in great 
agitation : 

“ My dear child ! My poor, dear little child ! ” Only he 
pronounced the words “ my boor dear leetle jild,” for he did 
not then speak English so well as he does now. 

I was not at all pleased with his caresses, for his coat smelt 
unpleasantly of tobacco-smoke, and as he held me to him 
and I raised my face to escape the odor, I noticed that he 
wore old-fashioned stick-up collars and a hideous green 
satin scarf, and there was not a single hair on his face — and 
this bareness was the more obvious because he wore a chest- 
nut wig, very full and curly, peculiarities which the girls 
would be sure to make fun of behind his back if they saw 
him. 

Miss Brougham left us together, and when she was gone 
I drew myself out of his arms and seated myself on a chair, 
fearing he would take me on his knee, despite my being 
such a great girl ; but he had his handkerchief to find, for a 
tear was trickling down his nose, and so I escaped that. 

After feeling two or three times in one tail pocket and then 
the other, he at last drew out an enormous red silk handker- 
chief, and having wiped his eyes and blown his nose with a 
sound like a trumpet, that might well reach across the play- 
ground, he rolled it up in a ball and held it ready for further 
use on his knee. Then, turning to me, he shook his head 
whilst his chin twitched and his thick lips trembled, and he 
said : 

“ My child, your father is dead.” 


28 


FOUND GUILTY. 


It was a shock to me, but I was less distressed in hearing 
of my loss than the professor was in telling it. I cried to 
think that my father was no more, and that I was now all 
alone in the world ; but I cried still more bitterly when this 
odd, ungainly professor told me that henceforth he would be 
a father to me. 

Although I was to some degree wanting in affection — 
having never known a mother’s love, nor any trouble,* nor any 
tenderness except that of teachers whose interest it was to 
be lenient and indulgent to me — I was not without feeling ; 
but it was with a sentiment of admiration rather than of love 
that I regarded my father. I had not seen him for three 
years ; I cannot recollect meeting him more than six times 
in the seven years I had been in Miss Brougham’s care. So 
there could not be any deep love between us. But I had 
been taught to be proud of him by Miss Brougham, who owed 
her prosperity to the use she made of his name. The books 
concerning his travels in Brazil and in Central Africa lay on 
her drawing-room table, his portrait hung upon the wall ; the 
newspaper paragraphs relating to his movements formed the 
text of geographical and ethnological discourses delivered 
publicly to the school, and I had sufficient discrimination to 
see that in deference to my father’s position I was allowed 
to do exactly as I liked. 

The professor took me for a drive, and, questioning me, 
discovered that I was profoundly ignorant, self-willed, and 
conceited ; and as he would not believe that any of these 
defects were natural to the child of his dear friend, he attrib- 
uted them all to the vicious training I had received. He 
looked for another school without delay, and in less than a 
fortnight I was transferred to Mrs. Grimsey’s academy at 
Norwood. Mrs. Grimsey understood me thoroughly — I was 
a good child spoilt by unprincipled treatment. What I 
needed was kind yet firm direction. The professor agreed 
entirely with this view, and so did I up to a certain point. 
I was a perfect angel under the kind treatment, which lasted 
just as long as Mrs. Grimsey’s ideas were in accord with mine ; 
but when firmness was required on her part to carry a point 
on which we disagreed, I rebelled. I would not take my 
place at the bottom of a class whereof the top girl stood as 
high as my elbow — it was an indignity not to be supported 
by the daughter of Digby Howard, the great traveller. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


29 


There was a brief struggle between Mrs. Grimsey and me, 
and then Professor Schlobach was requested to remove me 
from the school, which was being demoralized by my in- 
subordination. The professor tried one more school, and 
the result being still less satisfactory than in the former trial, 
he came to the conclusion that my character was of an 
exceptional kind, and required a special treatment, which 
he, perhaps, was best able to conduct, and with this con- 
viction he set about his task at once. He took a journey of 
two hundred miles from London to see an old farmhouse 
which was to be sold with its furniture, and finding it pleas- 
antly situated, with all that seemed to him necessary for 
healthy life, he bought it. Then he advertised for an elderly 
lady to serve as governess and housekeeper, and having found 
one who had a soft voice, a sweet face, and an air of good 
breeding and pure living, he engaged her ; after that, he had 
nothing to do but to give up his bachelor lodgings near the 
British Museum, and take me with Miss Trevor, my governess, 
to the new house at Faulcondale. And here I began a new 
life and a better one, as more generous sentiments warmed 
my heart. 

There was no question of education at first. Miss Trevor 
had ample occupation in arranging her rooms and getting 
things into perfect order, and my professor only concerned 
himself in making me happy. He bought me a goat that 
learned to follow me about like a dog, and pigeons that I 
taught to feed from my hand, and then a pony to ride and 
a chaise to drive in. He consulted my inclinations, and 
gratified my wishes in everything ; he was never tired of 
talking to me about my father, whose constant companion 
he had been for six years — sharing the difficulties and hard- 
ships of his perilous journeys. And as his admiration for 
my father was based upon love, and his indulgence to me 
sprang entirely from the purest motives of affection, I came to 
reverence him just as I had come to despise Miss Brougham 
for the selfish interest which actuated her. 

He was wonderfully patient with me. He had many cases 
of flies and insects collected in his travels, and these he had 
set himself to classify and write about during a certain fixed 
time each day ; but there was no hour at which he would not 
lay aside his pen, and go out with me, and I taxed him 
frequently, for there was no companion like him. A leaf, a 


30 


FOUND GUILTY. 


stone, a beetle, was in his hands the subject for a fairy story 
as charming as those of Hans Andersen. He was as simple 
as a child — indeed, I doubt if a child could not more readily 
have cheated him than he the child. He had a vague belief 
in the existence of wickedness, of evil in the abstract, but, 
practically, he saw nothing but good in the world, through 
living so long among simple people, and looking only for their 
good qualities. 

He was my friend, putting himself on a level with my un- 
derstanding, confiding in me, and winning my confidence ; 
there were no secrets between us. As my love for this dear 
old scholar grew, those personal peculiarities which had at 
first repelled me only served to endear him to me. His un- 
gainliness, his want of taste in dress, his defective pronuncia- 
tion, encouraged feelings of playful familiarity in the place of 
the chilling awe with which I must have regarded him had he 
been absolutely perfect. 

He was the most indulgent teacher : he excused my failings, 
he would not let me regard learning as a necessary infliction. 
No lesson was forced upon me ; he merely sought to train my 
inclinations in the direction of their better tendencies. I 
dare say I took advantage of his leniency ; I was idle when 
I should have been active ; but he never lost patience, and 
his gentle confidence in me succeeded ultimately. For when 
I did settle down to my studies it was with a keen desire to 
give him pleasure ; and so what I learnt became fixed in my 
memory. 

Naturally, by constant association with him, I contracted 
something of his love of goodness, and faith in the honesty 
of mankind. He developed what was good in my nature, 
and softened much that was harsh.; but despite his gentle 
influence, I remained impatient of contradiction, quick to 
take offence, not readily forgiving of slights, eager for revenge 
of injuries, and over-conscious of my own merits. In addition 
to these defects, I was proud of my birth : but this he could 
scarcely have regarded as a fault, since he rather encouraged 
than deprecated my pride, himself obtaining a genealogical 
tree to prove that my father sprang from an old and noble 
stock, and stoutly maintaining that the Feraldi, from which 
house my mother came, was a family as proud and great as 
the Capulets or Montagues. 

I have said enough to explain my own character, and that 


FOUND GUILTY. 


31 


of my dear old professor, who now came quickly to meet us. 
I remember he wore his brown holland suit, and had nothing 
on his head but his chestnut wig. His thick lips were parted, 
and his eyes rounded with astonishment at the strange 
spectacle presented — I leading Coquelicot with a handsome 
gentleman on his back. 

I introduced CaptainBromley, and in a few words explained 
matters ; then it was hard to say which feeling predominated 
— anxiety for Captain Bromley’s sprain, or pleasure in having 
a new friend to entertain. 

“ I am glad to make your acquaintance,” said he, grasping 
Captain Bromley’s hand, and his face beaming with good- 
nature, “ though I wish it were under pleasanter conditions 
for you. We will see to your foot, and we will have dinner, 
and then it will be quite soon enough to think about the chaise 
to take you away from us.” 

Captain Bromley declared that his foot required no atten- 
tion, but my guardian, who had some knowledge of surgery, 
insisted upon doing it “ segundum ardem,” as he said. While 
the dressing was being made . I took Coquelicot round to the 
stable, and then ran up to dress for dinner. I unplaited 
my hair and coiled it on the top of my head as I saw 
by the Journal des Modes it was the fashion to wear it in 
London, and then I put on my black lace dress, the bodice 
of which only half hid my shoulders and arms, and thus 
dressed I thought I looked very nice ; and so I think did Cap- 
tain Bromley, who rose directly I entered the room and paid 
me a graceful compliment. 

They had been talking about Egypt, where my professor 
told me Captain Bromley had fought and been wounded, while 
charging with the regiment of which he was a captain. 
I was pleased to hear of this ; it gave me a good opinion of 
Captain Bromley’s modesty, for he had said nothing to me of 
his rank, and had tried to make light of his hurt, which must 
have been hard indeed to bear so manfully. I wonder I had 
not guessed his profession, for his bearing was soldierly, and 
he looked as if he might be a hero. And now Miss Trevor 
coming in to say that dinner was served, our thoughts turned 
for the first time — that is to say, mine did — to Mr. Everleigh. 

Where was he ? He had not been seen since he stood at 
the garden gate with my guardian. Search was made, but he 
could not be found. His hat was gone from the hall. We 


32 


FOUND GUILTY. 


were all greatly astonished — except Captain Bromley, who, I 
fancy, thought he had gone in pursuit of a grasshopper, or 
some such thing — ^for Mr. Everleigh was so methodical in his 
habits, so careful in observing the conventional rules of 
society, that we could not attribute his abrupt departure to 
caprice. 

Whilst we were still speculating on this subject, a lad from 
the village brought a letter which explained the mystery. 
Mr. Everleigh had suddenly remembered a letter which he 
wished to post before the afternoon mail was made up. He 
had gone to the post, and there found a messenger from 
Barstow inquiring his address. The messenger had a tele- 
gram to deliver. It was from London, informing Mr. Ever- 
leigh that his brother had met with an accident, and lay at 
the point of death. The letter concluded with apologies to 
me and my guardian for his brusque departure, and begged 
that the lad might take his luggage to the railway-station at 
Barstow to be sent on after him. 

Another curious incident occurred after dinner. 

Captain Bromley picked up a damascened paper-knife that 
lay on the table of the sitting-room, and after examining it, 
turned to my professor and said : 

“ May I ask if you bought this at Cairo ? ” 

The professor replied that it did not belong to him, but to 
Mr. Everleigh, who had accidentally brought it in a book he 
was reading. 

“ That is odd,” said Captain Bromley, “because I sent a 
knife exactly like this from Cairo to the lady I am going to 
visit to-day.” 

There was a very obvious explanation of this mystery, for 
it was not at all improbable that Mrs. Norman, the lady 
living at Beauchamp Moat, whither he was going, taking a 
book to read in the woods, had dropped her knife, and that 
Mr. Everleigh, scanning the ground for insects, had found 
it. 

This matter, however, soon passed out of our minds, for 
my guardian^ catching at Captain Bromley’s intimation of 
going on to Beauchamp Moat, at once protested loudly 
against his leaving us with his foot under treatment, and 
begged him to stay with us until the next day with such 
earnestness that Captain Bromley accepted the invitation. 

After tea the professor took our new friend into his study 


FOUND GUILTY. 


33 


to smoke and talk, and Miss Trevor and I went down the 
garden to enjoy the fresh air, which seemed to us very much 
better than tobacco smoke. But the gentlemen were clearly 
not of our opinion, for they stayed there so long that I 
began to think they intended to leave us to ourselves all the 
evening ; but it was the loveliest evening — very still and 
calm. Just after the church clock had struck eight, and we 
were sitting quite still on the bench under the apple-tree, to 
our great surprise the nightingale began to sing from the 
elm in the meadow. 

We had not heard him for several nights, and had come 
with regret to think that he would sing no more this 
summer ; and so, full of delight, I ran up to the house to 
tell the gentlemen — forgetting, for the moment, that nightin- 
gales might be less uncommon to Captain Bromley than 
they are to us living in the north. 

But he rose with alacrity, saying it would be unlucky not 
to hear the last song of the nightingale, and leaning on my 
guardian’s arm, and with what assistance I could offer, he 
went to the end of the garden, where Miss Trevor was 
standing. 

The nightingale was gone ; we listened in vain. 

“ He is gone,” I said, turning to Captain Bromley. 

I found that he was regarding me, but there was nothing 
unpleasant in his regard ; indeed, there was a very kind look 
in his eyes. 

“ I am sorry for that,” he said quietly. 

“ He will return, perhaps,” said I. “ Do you want to go 
indoors again ? ” 

“ Not so much as to stay out here,” he replied ; and though 
there was very little in those words, they made me like him 
for the soft tone in which they were spoken. 

So we sat down side by side on the bench, and my pro- 
fessor seated himself at one end and Miss Trevor at the 
other. We said nothing at all. My guardian smoked his 
long pipe thoughtfully, and Miss Trevor sat with her head 
lowered and her hands crossed in her lap ; and I wondered 
if she were recalling old memories, and thinking of the 
songs that were never again to fall on her ear. For the 
silence of the evening and the last sunset tints lingering 
over the hills were full of sad delight. 

I know not why I felt so happy and yet so ready to cry. 

3 


34 


FOUND GUILTY. 


The next morning we drove to Beauchamp Moat. My 
guardian would have accompanied us, he having taken a 
strong liking to Captain Bromley, but as this was market- 
day at Lipley, and Miss Trevor could not well do her shop- 
ping there without her maid Eliza, he had to forego that 
pleasure ; but he walked to the top of the hill beside us, 
and stood there smoking his pipe and looking after us 
until we got to the foot and turned off by the old London 
road. 

Captain Bromley wished to introduce Mrs. Norman to us 
when we reached Beauchamp Moat, but there was only a 
deaf and dumb servant at the house, who, with some diffi- 
culty, made us understand that her mistress and master 
were out. 

Captain Bromley said that he should certainly come to 
see us again when his foot was in walking condition. I told 
him I should be going to Lipley on Saturday. 

“ Then it is very lik^ely you will find me somewhere on the 
road between Lipley and Faulcondale about tliis hour,” said 
Captain Bromley, looking at his watch. 

We shook hands and parted, but suddenly reflecting that 
he did not know the locality, I stopped Coquelicot and 
looked back. He had not entered the house, but stood by 
the gate looking towards us. He came to the side of the 
chaise. 

“ This is not the direct road to Lipley. I usually go by 
the new road, and to get there you would have to cross the 
hills by the fields, if — if ” 

“ I shall cross the fields,” said he, and then we shook hands 
again without any reason and parted. 

We went on to Lipley, which was more stupid than ever 
I had known it that day, and then in the afternoon returned 
by the new road to Faulcondale. But before we came within 
sight of the village my dear old guardian met us, with such a 
woebegone and terror-stricken face that we were seized with 
alarm before he opened his lips. 

“ My darling child,” he said, laying his trembling hands on 
mine, and speaking with terrible agitation in his voice, “ my 
poor, poor child — I have been robbed ! And all your fortune 
is lost ! ” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

My name is Thomas Craik. I am twenty-two years of age. 
I was born of poor but honest parents. I will add this 
tribute to their memory : they died as they had lived — in 
the workhouse. I was educated up to a certain point by a 
grateful parish ; but I quitted my studies to learn horse-riding 
in a travelling circus. Having the misfortune to fall and 
break a couple of ribs the first time I attempted to throw a 
somersault on a horse, I was declared unfit for the profession 
and sent to the hospital. Falling once more upon the 
hands of the parish, I was articled to the vestry clerk, 
but being ambitious, I quitted his office at the end of three 
months, and after vicissitudes too numerous to mention, 
found myself at the age of twenty-one in the position of under- 
clerk to Mr. Gardener, solicitor, of Pump Court, with a week’s 
notice to leave. My duties consisted in keeping the office clean 
and running on commissions, and these I faithfully performed ; 
but a natural desire to better my position gave offence to my 
employer, who considered that it was no business of mine to 
inquire into the affairs of his clients. Unfortunately or not, 
curiosity is my ruling passion. I never yet read an enigma 
without puzzling out its solution, and the greatest pleasure I 
know is to interpret the announcements in cipher which oc- 
casionally appear in the second column of the Times. 

On the nineteenth of June — three days after I had received 
notice from Mr. Gardener — when I arrived at nine o’clock to 
open the office, I found a bulky, elderly gentleman, with a 
heavy face and a brown wig, waiting on the landing. He 
looked like a client who had lost his case after a long trial. 
His skin was a bad color, and his wig had come out of curl 
and hung in wisps over his ears. 


3 ^ 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Do 3^ou wish to see Mr. Gardener } ” I asked. 

“ Yes^ I do,” he replied. 

‘>This way,” said I, opening the door and leading him into 
the office. “May I ask your name } ” 

“ My name is Wilhelm Schlobach,” he answered ; “ and 
who are you ? ” 

“ I am Mr. Gardener’s clerk ; if there is anything I can do 

for you I said with assurance, hoping from his simple 

appearance that he might be led into disclosing his affairs. 

He shook his head and said he would wait until Mr. Gar- 
dener arrived. He seated himself and never said a word for 
an hour. Then he grew fidgety and looked at his watch. At 
a quarter-past ten Mr. Hughes, the first clerk, came in. He 
and Mr. Schlobach had evidently met before. Mr. Hughes 
said it was uncertain whether Mr. Gardener would be in town 
that day, and, repeating my question, asked if he could do 
anything for Mr. Schlobach. After a little hesitation the 
stout gentleman said : 

“ Yes, we will go inside and talk about it.” 

Mr. Hughes had the keys of Mr. Gardener’s office ; he 
opened the baize-covered door ; they entered, and he closed 
the door carefully. I slipped into the lavatory. This lava- 
tory was actually part of the inner office, from which it was 
'cut off by a partition of match lining. On the inner side — 
that is, in Mr. Gardener’s office — this partition was fitted with 
shelves and filled with deed-boxes. In one of these boards, 
which were of ordinary deal, I had discovered a loose knot at 
about the height of my chin. By arranging the deed-boxes 
on the other side to leave a space, one could, on withdrawing 
the knot, look straight on to the table at which Mr. Gardener 
sat. The lavatory was dark and the office was light, so that 
one could see without the risk of being seen. An uphol- 
sterer’s tack fixed in the knot enabled me to take it out and 
replace it with the greatest ease. And now, being in the 
lavatory, I took out the knot and put my ear to the hole. Mr. 
Schlobach was speaking : 

“ Very well, then,” I heard him say with a strong German 
pronunciation, “before my friend was shot he wrote two 
letters — one was for Mr. Gardener, the other was for his 
daughter, Dorothea. I gave the first to Mr. Gardener, 
and after reading it he told me that my friend had left 
me twelve thousand pounds unconditionally. I knew what 


FOUND GUILTY. 


37 


that was for, though — it was to educate his daughter. All 
right. The other letter was to be given to Dorothea the 
day after her marriage, and it was not to be opened till 
then. You see ? About a fortnight ago Mr. Gardener sent 
me an advertisement cut out of the Times newspaper, which 
said that the next of kin to Digby Howard, who died in 
Africa in 1876, would hear of something very good indeed 
by writing to Mr. Roland Dundas, Penshurst You see ? 
Very well : I wrote to this Mr. Dundas and he wrote to 
me, and I went to see him. I learnt that when he was 
a young man he and Mr. Howard were very great friends. 
Mr. Dundas was junior partner in a big bank, but he got 
into debt, and to save him Mr. Howard signed a bill that 
nearly ruined my friend, but it saved Mr. Dundas and the 
bank. Mr. Howard never expected ^o get back a penny of 
his money, but Mr. Dundas gave him an I O U, and said 
that if he grew rich again he would pay it to Mr. Howard 
or anyone who presented it with his written authority to 
receive it. You see ? All right. I came here to tell Mr. 
Gardener all about it. But he already knew these facts. 
The letter Mr. Howard wrote to him before going on that 
last and fatal expedition told him that he had put the 
I O U in his daughter’s hands, not knowing whether it was 
worth anything or not, but that she could not present it 
until the day after her marriage — do you see ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” replied Mr. Hughes. “ The I O U was en- 
closed in the letter addressed to Miss Howard, which was 
not to be opened until the day after her marriage.” 

“ All right ” 

At this moment the door of the outer office opened and 
shut, and I recognized the quick step of Mr. Gardener. I 
left the hole and busied myself in washing my hands : but 
there was no danger — Mr. Gardener went straight into the 
inner office. I slipped back in an instant to the hole in the 
partition. 

“ as if you had been up all night.” I caught these 

words from Mr. Gardener’s lips. 

“ So I have, my friend,” replied Mr. Schlobach. “ I left 
Barstow by the midnight mail. The letter is gone ! ” 

“ The letter ? ” 

“ The letter written by my friend Howard to hb daughter, 
and given to me to take care of — I have lost it.” 


38 


FOUND GUILTY. 


‘‘ Lost it, my dear sir ! Where ? ” 

“ It has been stolen from my desk in my house at Faulcon- 
dale.” 

“ This is very serious. You know that it probably 
contains an order to pay something like a quarter of a 
million of money.” 

“ I know all about that ; I wish I didn’t.” 

‘‘ When was it stolen ? ” 

“ Yesterday morning. I was showing it to a gentleman 
the night T)efore, and ” 

“ Have you telegraphed to Mr. Dundas to stop payment t ” 

“ No — I never thought of that — I got the policeman from 
Barstow, and we were looking for the thief all day yester- 
day, and ” 

“ Twenty-four hours since it was lost, and payment not 
stopped ! It’s too late. Put on your hat, Hughes, quick ! ” 

There was silence ; I looked through the hole and saw 
Mr. Gardener writing out a telegram, and Mr. Schlobach 
looking on in blank wonder. Hughes came back with his 
hat on. 

Take this to the office at once,” said Mr. Gardener. 
“ Wire first to Dundas and Co., in Throgmorton Street, and 
then to Mr. Dundas at his private address. I’ve written 
it here. Wait for an answer at the office. Repeat the 
wire in half an hour if you get no reply in that time. Don’t 
lose a moment.” 

Mr. Hughes went off on his errand at once. 

“ If the mischief is not already done,” said Mr. Gardener, 
taking off his gloves, “ we shall prevent the money falling 
into the hands of a thief. Now, whom do you suspect ? ” 

“ The policeman says there was a tinker ” 

“ A tinker — ah, well, have you lost anything besides the 
letter ? ” 

“ No.” 

Then an ordinary thief has not taken it. Where did 
you keep this letter .? ” 

“ In a secret drawer in my desk.” 

“ Hum, about the unsafest place you could put it in. 
Every child knows where to find these secret drawers and 
how to open them. Who is the gentleman to whom you 
showed this letter ? — a most ill-advised proceeding, allow me 
to remark.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


39 


“The gentleman was Captain Valentine Bromley,” said 
Mr. Schlobach, in a tone which seemed to imply that there 
could be no doubt about his honesty. 

“ How long have you known him } ” Mr. Gardener asked, 
in no way moved by the tone of conviction. 

“He came to the house the day before last.” 

“ Do you lock your desk ? ” 

“ No , the lock is gone wrong.” 

“ And the door of the room .? ” 

“ There is not any key.” 

“ There are shutters to the windows, of course ? ” 

“ Shutters ? Oh no ; there never were any.” 

“ And where was this Captain Bromley between the night 
before last and yesterday morning ? ” 

“ In my house, of course.” 

There was silence. I clapped my eye to the hole. Mr. 
Gardener was gently tapping the back of his hands with his 
gloves and trying to repress a smile. 

He drew a piece of paper from the case and took up a 

pen. “ This Bromley calls himself ” 

“ Captain Valentine Bromley,” Mr. Schlobach replied, in 
a tone of irritation. 

“ I suppose you don’t know his address ? ” he said, writing. 
“ Yes, I do ; he is staying with Dr. Norman at Beauchamp 
Moat — that is, about four miles from Faulcondale.” 

“ Do you know Dr. Norman ? ” 

“ No, I don’t.” 

“ Have you shown this letter to anyone else ? ” 

“ Yes, lots of people.” 

“ Lots of people ? ” 

“ Well, all my friends that come to see me ; I tell them 
the good fortune of my child ; do you think it is a thing to be 
ashamed of and hide, eh ? ” 

“ You refer to your neighbors, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Is there anyone amongst them that might be likely to 
marry Miss Howard ” 

“ No ; the neighbors are not likely to marry her — oh no ! ” 

“ There is nob^ody besides Captain Valentine Bromley who 
might wish to marry her ? ” 

“ Yes, there is our friend Mr. Everleigh ; but he is not a 
neighbor.” 


40 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Ah ; let us hear about Mr. Everleigh now.’* 

“ He is a Government clerk, and he comes down some- 
times to spend a few days with us, and he is fond of natural 
history, and he is, I think, very fond of Doris as well.” 

“ Does he seem to you a careful man } ” 

“ Oh, yes, yes, yes ! He is very careful indeed.” 

“ The sort of man who would like to be sure how much a 
young lady was worth before he ventured to marry her } ” 

“ Why, you don’t think he is a thief, do you ” asked Mr. 
Schlobach resentfully. 

“ Unless we are to be guided by the wisdom of a country 
policeman, and attribute this theft to an ignorant tinker, we 
must doubt everyone to find who is above suspicion. When 
was Mr. Everleigh last at your house ? ” 

‘‘ The day before yesterday — he left before the letter was 
missing — he went to London.” 

“You are sure of that ? ” 

“ Quite sure.” 

“ I should like to know Mr. Everleigh’s Christian name, 
and what Government appointment he holds ” 

“ His name is Richard Everleigh. I don’t know what 
office he is -in.” 

“We may find that out,” said Mr. Gardener, writing. 
Then there was a long pause ; at length he said : 

“ Can you tell me if Captain Bromley knew of Mr. Ever- 
leigh’s pretensions — of his wish to marry Miss Howard } ” 

“ I told him I thought Mr. Everleigh would like to marry 
her.” 

“ Did he make any observation ? ” 

“No, I am sure he did not. He was very quiet after I 
spoke.” 

“ Thoughtful .? ” 

“ I don’t know. We generally are thoughtful when we are 
silent.” 

“ Does he seem to you a generous man ? ” 

“ I am certain of that — splendid fellow.” 

“ Might he have been thinking, in a generous, soldierly 
fashion, now, that it was a pity that a beautiful girl like Miss 
Howard should be married to a man fond of natural history, 
and that it would be well for her if the temptation to marry 
her for her possible fortune were removed ? ” 

“ All right, I see what you mean, sir, and I tell you I don’t 


FOUND GUILTY. 


41 


think Captain Bromley would steal that letter to prevent Mr. 
Everleigh marrying her, even if he knew she was being mar- 
ried for what that letter contained.” 

“ In short, you are resolved to doubt no one, professor ? ” 

“ I will doubt anyone but those two gentlemen.” 

“ That gives me more hope. Now, sir, who lives in the 
house with you ? ” 

“ Miss Trevor — you know her — and Doris, and a maid- 
servant, Eliza. And the nicest little maid-servant that ever 
was.” 

“ Not inquisitive ? ” 

“ Not anything that is bad.” 

“ Because a letter of this kind, that must have created 
some stir in your village, might have been taken from mere 
curiosity, and the taker, without wishing to keep it, might be 
at a loss how to return it without being discovered.” 

“ Ah, 1 see again what you mean. You think Doris may 
have taken it herself.” 

“ What do you think ? ” 

“ That it’s all tarn nonsense what you say,” cried Mr. 
Schlobach, jumping up so hastily that his chair tumbled 
down. 

At this point of the conversation Mr. Hughes returned, 
panting with the haste he had made. It was not necessary 
for me to quit my post of observation. He handed a telegram 
to Mr. Gardener, who, having glanced at it, said : 

“ I am happy to tell you, my dear professor, that the 
money has not been paid, and no I O U has been pre- 
sented.” 

“ Thank heaven ! ” gasped Mr. Schlobach. 

“ Anything else, sir ? ” inquired Mr. Hughes. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Gardener; “inquire into these two names. 
Find out whether there is a Captain Bromley, and to what 
regiment he belongs ; and also in what Government office 
Mr. Richard Everleigh is employed. Curtis in Chancery 
Lane will give you information probably.” 

Mr. Hughes took the sheet of paper on which the names 
were written and went out. 

“ And now what is to be done ? ” asked Mr. Schlobach. 

“ Go home and see if the letter has not been replaced in 
your desk. If it has, I advise you to transfer it to a safer 
place.” 


42 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ And if it has not ? ” 

“ Then come and see me again. We may find it necessary 
to communicate with Scotland Yard.” 

“ What do you say to advertising in the papers t I will give 
ten thousand pounds to get that letter back.” 

“ Ten thousand pounds ! That is a tempting offer.” 

“ I will give it out of the money my friend left me.” 

“ We will not make the offer yet, at any rate ; we may 
get it at a lower price if we wait. There is still one other 
chance.” 

“ What is that } ” 

“ It is just possible that a clever thief, hearing of this affair, 
has taken the letter, as other thieves take dogs, with a pros- 
pect of a reward being offered ; it is just likely that if no offer 
of reward is made he will offer to get the letter from a friend, 
or in some such roundabout way, for a tenth of what you are 
willing to pay. For the letter is of no use to anyone now 
except the future husband of Miss Howard.” 

“ That is the most sensible thing you have said yet,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Schlobach. 

“ For my own part,” said Mr. Gardener, “ I think it is the 
least likely thing that could have happened. I firmly believe — 
according to the statements you have made — that the letter is 
in the possession of Mr. Everleigh or Captain Bromley, and I 
warn you to be careful in your dealings with those gentlemen. 
Be sure of one thing, that he who has it will move heaven 
and earth to marry Miss Howard. Who the thief is it is 
impossible to say. The question of position is nothing — 
don’t be deceived by that. Every day there is evidence in 
the papers of well-bred men descending to the vilest means of 
obtaining money. A Government clerk is usually a gentleman ; 
an officer is equally a gentleman ; we do not know their pecu- 
niary position. Their word must be taken for nothing. Mr. 
Everleigh, you say, is careful : that suggests restricted means. 
If Mr. Everleigh gives up his pretensions to Miss Howard’s 
hand, you may take it for granted that he is as innocent as 
your heart can wish. Captain Bromley is a soldier. Soldiers, 
despite their honor, sometimes make the means subjective 
to an end which interest leads them to believe is good and 
just. He may wish to get his more advanced rival out of the 
field, and justify the abstraction of this letter by the reflection 
that when he has married Miss Howard it will be hers — and 


FOUND GUILTY. 


4 ’ 


his. Again, sir, I say watch them closely, and beware of the 
more successful. You must use more than your customary 
caution, or you will find too late that Miss Howard has 
married the wrong man.” 


CHAPTER V. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

“ You had better wire me this evening,” said Mr. Gardener 
to Professor Schlobach, as they shook hands on parting at 
the office door. The simple old gentleman looked perplexed, 
and repeated the words as if he doubted his hearing. “ Send 
me a telegram, you know,” explained Mr. Gardener, “ telling 
me whether you have found the lost letter, or discovered 
any clue to the mystery of its loss.” 

Mr. Schlobach promised to do this ; but up to the time of 
closing the office no telegram had been handed in. 

If Mr. Gardener’s supposition that it had been extracted 
from the secret drawer from curiosity, and would be replaced, 
should be verified, there was an end of the matter ; but if it 
should not, then there was the beginning of a fine career for 
a poor young man. And when I thought of the exciting 
vicissitudes attending the discovery of the theft, the keen 
struggle to outwit the thief and gain possession of the stolen 
letter, the substantial reward in addition to the moral triumph 
which would crown success, I sincerely wished that the worst 
fears of Mr. Gardener and his client had been realized by 
the dishonesty of Mr. Everleigh or Captain Bromley. 

For I resolved I would win the prize if it were to be won, 
and there was nothing remarkable in this decision ; for here 
was I with my week’s warning half expired, a strong love 
of adventure, no squeamish scruples worth speaking of, a 
hearty detestation of office work, with nothing whatever to 
lose by my undertaking, and everything to gain. 

I slept little that night for thinking of the lost letter, and 
got to the office just after the first postal delivery. 

Mr. Hughes kept the key of the letter-box ; but those are 
extraordinary locks which I cannot opem with an iron skewer, 
and that on the letter-box was of the simplest kind. So in 


44 


FOUND GUILTY. 


\ 

about a minute and a half 1 had out the packet of letters, 
and turned them over quickly, on the look-out for a buff 
envelope. There it was — a telegram. With a little water 
and patience I raised the flap without injury, and then I 
picked out the telegram. 


From 

Wilhelm Schlobach. 
Faulcondale. 


To Mr. Gardener, 
Solicitor, 

Pump Court, London. 


“ The letter was not in the drawer as you expected, and it 
is not anywhere in my house, I am sure. I have not found 
out anything about anybody, but everything is just as it was. 
What is to be done now ? ” 


“ Thank heaven ! ” thought I. “ Mr. Everleigh or Captain 
Bromley is a thief.” 

I replaced the telegram, gummed and closed the envelope, 
returned it with the rest of the letters to the letter-box, and 
locked it up securely. 

Soon after Mr. Gardener’s arrival, he sent me to the post- 
office, with this wire addressed to Professor Schlobach : 

“ Wait a week. The letter may be offered to you on more 
reasonable terms than you are prepared to offer. I find that 
the statements made by ‘ R. E.’ (Richard Everleigh), and 
‘ V. B.’ (Valentine Bromley), with regard to their positions, 
are technically correct.” 

In my dinner-hour I bought paper and envelopes, and 
wrote this letter to Mr. Schlobach : 


'•'‘June 20, 1883. 

“ Sir, 

“ I am informed that you are willing to pay ten thou- 
sand pounds for the recovery of a letter addressed to Miss 
Dorothea Howard, signed by the late Mr. Digby Howard, and 
containing an order for the payment of I O U. If you will 
send me by return of post a written note of agreement to 
that effect, I will undertake to restore the said letter to you 
within the space of twelve months from this date. 

“Address your reply to ‘X., Post-office, New Church 
Road, Camberwell.’ ” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


-45 


I posted this letter on Thursday afternoon. On Saturday 
the young woman at the Camberwell post-office handed me 
a letter in reply to my inquiries. I seized it eagerly, and was 
about to leave the desk when, still looking over the letters, 
she said ; 

“ Wait a bit ; I think there’s another for you.” 

I turned back, and she handed me a second letter. The 
writing was not in the same hand ; I fancied one of the two 
was intended for another X. ; however, that was no business 
of mine, “ and,” thought I,“ if another person has chosen the 
same signature as mine, he must put up with the conse- 
quences.” So I went off with my two letters. 

The first I opened — guided by the peculiarity of the writ- 
ting — was from Mr. Schlobach ; he said : 

“ It is all right ; I will give ten thousand pounds for the let- 
ter, according to the terms of your requirement. But I shall 
be much obliged, and will ask no questions and do my best 
to think you took the letter by mistake, if you will let me 
have it at once instead of in twelve months. I sign myself, 

“Wilhelm Schlobach.” 

I could have sung with delight as I put this simple old 
man’s letter into my pocket. But I now thought of the other 
letter, which I proceeded to open, and found to my astonish- 
ment that it was meant for me. 

Here are the exact words : 

“ If X. wants to discover the person who stole a letter from 
the secret drawer of a desk in the study of Professor Schlo- 
bach, of Faulcondale, he will do well to put on an old coat, 
and an abjected expression, and ask for employment at Beau- 
champ Moat, six miles east of Faulcondale, where Dr. Nor- 
man is in need of a laboratory assistant.” 

This letter puzzled me extremely. There was neither 
^ address nor signature, but I found it bore the same postmark 
as the professor’s letter. At first I was inclined to think that 
the professor, if not the writer, was the author of this letter, 
and that he wished to assist me in the recovery of the letter 
by putting me on the track of the person he most suspected ; 
but when I came to consider the simple, stupid character of 


46 


FOUND GUILTY. 


the old German, I abandoned that idea. I then weighed the 
probabilities ot its being written by one Of his neighbors or by 
the police in search of a cat’s-paw ; but at length I came to 
the conclusion that it had come from some person who had 
witnessed the theft, or had strong foundation for suspicion, 
and yet from fear or some such sentiment dared not openly 
accuse the thief. It was most reasonable to suppose that this 
timid witness was a woman, and an inmate of Mr. Schlobach’s 
house. Possibly it was Miss Howard herself who wrote. 
Whoever it was I must get to find out what she or he knew. 
That was a pleasure to come. For the present I had informa- 
tion of the most useful and gratifying kind. There could be 
no doubt about the person indicated by the writer of this letter. 
The thief must be Captain Bromley. He, as I learnt from 
Mr. Schlobach’s statement, was now staying at Beauchamp 
Moat. But for this letter, I might have spent many profit- 
less weeks in settling which was the guilty party — Captain 
Bromley or Mr. Everleigh. 

Mr. Gardener had not provided himself with an under-clerk 
in my place, and in paying me my week’s salary on Saturday 
afternoon was good enough to hint that if I promised to be- 
have better I might return to my post on Monday morning, 
and I had the supreme satisfaction of declining his offer. 

On Sunday morning I took my best clothes to the rag fair in 
Houndsditch, and sold them for the best price I could get, 
thereby, as it appeared to me, imitating the conduct of that 
general who destroyed the bridges behind his advancing army. 
In the evening I packed up all that was left of my effects in a 
handkerchief, and went to bed early. On Monday morning 
I left London by the 5.15 train, and arrived at Barstow a 
little after 1 1 . At the station I learnt that I must pass through 
Faulcondale to get to Beauchamp Moat. 

This suited me exactly, and I started off with the hope that 
I might kill two birds with One stone. 

Following the road according to direction, I was within half 
a mile of Faulcondale, when whom did I see coming towards 
me but the old professor ! I knew him at once, although he 
was dressed in a gay suit of brown holland and a straw hat, 
and hi^ wig was in full curl. He was seated in a ramshackle 
old chaise, drawn by a thick-legged brown cob, beside a hand- 
somely-dressed young lady, who held the reins. She certainly 
was the most beautiful young lady I have ever seen off the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


47 


stagej and I settled at once that this must be Miss Howard. 
I never saw such splendid eyes, nor a prouder look ; she 
drove right in the middle of the road, as if it all belonged to 
her. On the front seat facing her was a thin old lady. 

I stepped out quicker than ever, for I thought that if the 
family was going to Barstow, and had left the servant at 
home, I should have the best chance in the world of picking up 
something useful. I soon got to the village, and having found 
out which was the professor’s house, I went to the gate and 
pulled the bell. A plump young woman with a face as round 
and rosy as an apple came to the gate. 

“ If you please, miss,” said I, “ is Mr. Schlobach in ? ” 

“No,” said she, shaking her simple head, “he have just 
gone off in the shay to Barstow.” 

I told her I was very sorry to hear that, as I had walked 
all the way from Barstow on purpose to see him, and perhaps 
he’d gone there to see me, as I had been informed that he 
wanted a young fellow to look after a pony and chaise. 

She opened her mouth wide enough for me to see about 
three inches of her tongue as she listened to this story ; when 
I had done she shook her thick head again, and said she had 
not heard anything at all about it. 

“ It must be true,” said I, “ or else they wouldn’t have told 
me so at Barstow, so I will sit down and wait till the kind 
gentleman comes back.” 

She seemed to hesitate about asking me in, but when I told 
her in a whining tone that I had lost my mother and father, 
all doubts about my respectability were banished from her 
mind, and she told me I might come and sit down in the kit- 
chen, where she gave me part of her dinner and a glass of ale. 

I taught her how to answer her wishes with a halfpenny 
hung in a tumbler at the end of a long hair, and the innocent 
girl became so engrossed in this simple pastime that I might 
have rifled the place and gone off with the booty without ob- 
struction from her. When by these simple means I had en- 
tirely won her confidence, I asked her about her place, and 
whether she got many presents from the visitors. She said 
she. did not get much, but a Captain Bromley had given her 
half a crown, and Mr. Everleigh gave her a shilling once. 

“ I reckon the gentleman who gave you the half-crown 
comes pretty often,” said I. 

“ Oh no, he don’t,” she replied. “ Captain Bromley’s only 


48 


FOUND GUILTY. 


been once ; but Mr. Everleigh, he’s come four or five times. 
He was here o’Friday, but he didn’t give me anything, because 
he ain’t a-coming any more. What shall I wish now ? ” 

“ Wish you may get another half-crown next time Captain 
Bromley comes,” said I, and, as she carefully proceeded to 
test the result of this wish, I asked, “ Why ain’t Mr. Ever- 
leigh a-coming here no more ? ” 

“ Because his brother’s bust a blood-vessel, and he has got 
to be took out of London. There, it struck once ! that means 
‘ Yes,’ don’t it ” 

“ Yes, but you’d better put it aside now,” said I — seeing 
there was little to be got out of her while she was playing this 
game — “ or it may strike again, and then you won t get your 
half-crown.” 

She put the halfpenny in her pocket quickly, and then I 
led her on to talk of the robbery, and from her guileless re- 
marks I learnt that nothing concerning the theft had been 
discovered, and that no one in that house suspected anyone. 
She showed me the professor’s study. The window was not 
above a yard from the ground, and there was no fastening to 
the sash, so that it would have been the easiest thing imagi- 
nable to enter the room from the garden in the night or in the 
day either, if there were ‘ no better guardian about than this 
simple maid. 

When I had learned all that the girl had to tell, I asked 
where Captain Bromley was now, putting the question for a 
pretext to get off before the return of the professor. 

“ At Beechams Moat,” she replied. 

“ Beechams Moat ! ” I exclaimed ; “ is that far from here ? ” 

“ About three or four miles,” said she. 

“ Because,” said I, “ I was told I might get a place there if 
your master didn’t want me, and to be on the safe side I’ll 
walk on there now I’m rested, and come back again if that 
place don’t suit me. Any way, I shall come and see you 
again, and if you’re a good girl. I’ll walk out with you on 
Sundays.” 

She thanked me prettily, and we parted. 

Reflecting on what I had heard as I walked to the Moat, 
I formed a pretty clear idea of Mr. Everleigh. That he was 
a mean man was clear. I pictured him as one of those 
needy clerks who spend all they get in keeping up a position 
above their means in London Society. He had been anxious 


FOUND GUILTY. 


49 


to marry Miss Howard when that marriage was likely to 
make him wealthy : but now that such a marriage could 
only tax his scant fortune to support a wife accustomed to 
ease and elegance, he took the first excuse to back out. But 
though he could not gratify his own wishes, he entertained a 
mean envy of him who could, and was willing, if possible, to 
ruin his chance by throwing suspicion upon him. For I now 
concluded that the anonymous note had come from Mr. Ever- 
leigh — his last visit being on a Friday, the very day on which 
the letter must have been posted at Barstow to reach me on 
Saturday. There was reason to suppose that the professor 
had given him the particulars of his interview with Mr. Gar- 
dener, and probably shown him my letter as well ; possibly 
he had carried Mr. Schlobach’s letter to the post, and had 
got the idea of writing to me from that. They had both 
been posted at the same office and at the same time ; had he 
posted his own in London, it would have thrown suspicion 
on him in the event of inquiry ; whereas, but for the informa- 
tion given to me by the maid Eliza, I should have continued 
to believe that either Miss Howard or the old lady, Miss 
Trevor, was the author. 

I found it was nearer six miles than four to Beauchamp 
Moat, and despite the pleasant occupation of my mind, I 
was very much fatigued when I arrived there. 

It was the quietest old place I have ever seen. 

Some workmen were patching up a tumble-down bridge that 
crossed the ditch surrounding the house, which was built in 
the form of a square, more like an almshouse than anything 
else. 

I asked for Dr. Norman, and was told to go through the 
gateway into a kind of courtyard, where some gardeners 
were arranging a flower-bed. 

A lady and gentleman were looking on. I knew Captain 
Bromley at a glance. 

There was no mistaking him ; he looked every inch a 
soldier. The lady, I thought, might be the doctor’s wife, and 
I was right. 

I went up to them and said that I had heard that Dr. Nor- 
man wanted a young man. 

“ I heard Norman tell the carrier that he wanted an assist- 
ant,” said Mrs. Norman to Captain Bromley. “ But,” she 

4 


50 


FOUND GUILTY. 


added timidly, “ he is engaged in the laboratory — what are 
we to do ? ” 

“ That’s easy enough,” replied Captain Bromley, beckoning 
a girl who was crossing the court. He took an envelope 
from his pocket, wrote a few words on it with a pencil, and 
gave it to the girl, pointing at the same time to a side of the 
square distinguished from the others by three tall windows. 
The girl, as I found afterwards, was deaf and dumb ; her 
name was Martha.'* 

After despatching her on this errand. Captain Bromley 
turned his back upon me and strolled carelessly across the 
courtyard with Mrs. Norman. He little knew that I had 
come there to hunt him down and bring him to justice. 

In a few minutes the girl returned, beckoned to me, and 
led me into the house and through a stone-paved corridor 
into an empty room, which might at one time have been 
used as a prison, judging by the small, heavily-barred win- 
dows, the gloom and the musty smell of it. At the further 
end was an old door, crossed with the ironwork of two enor- 
mous hinges, and studded with rusty nails. 

She knocked and motioned me to go in ; at the same time 
a \^ice within cried, “ Come in.” 

I entered the laboratory. 

It was a large room, like a chapel, paved with tiles. The 
timbers of the roof, black with smoke and dust, were visible 
overhead. On the right, high up from the ground, were 
two round windows ; on the left were the three tall ones I 
had seen from the court, furnished with green blinds which 
were drawn down ; a long bench of new wood ran along the 
wall on the right, with crucibles and glass things standing 
on it. Above, under the round windows, was a shelf filled 
with bottles. On the left, between the tall windows, were 
two bookcases full of books great and small. 

In the centre was a table on which stood a reading-lamp, 
a microscope, and some surgical cases ; a square of thick 
carpet covered the tiles there. Not far from the table stood 
an odd-shaped stove ; a big stove-pipe was carried up slant- 
wise and through one of the round windows. A book was 
open on the table, and in front of it sat Dr. Norman in an 
elbow-chair. 

He was reading ; the envelope with the written message 
sent in by Captain Bromley lay on the table beside his book. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


SI 

I went up and stood in front of the table. He was so in- 
terested in his book that he did not raise his eyes for 
some minutes, so I had time to form an opinion of my future 
master. 

He was quite a young man, twenty-eight I should say, at 
the outside ; he looked a little like a Jew, still more, I thought, 
like one of a troupe of Hindoo jugglers that I saw once at 
the Westminster Aquarium, his skin being sallow, his nose 
hooked, and his eyebrows and hair jet black. His beard 
was clipped short to his face. He wore a pair of gold- 
rimmed eye-glasses. 

Coming to the end of the chapter, he took up the envelope, 
laid it between the pages, and closed the book ; then, setting 
his elbows on the arms of the chair, he leaned back and 
looked straight at me, without saying a word for half a min- 
ute. He seemed short-sighted, and half closed his eyes, 
throwing back his head to get a fair look at me through his 
glasses. He was just as much a student as Captain Brom- 
ley was a soldier. 

“ I am told, sir, you want a young man,” said I humbly. 

“ Who told you ? ” he asked. 

“ A gentleman — I think he is a carrier at the village — ■ 
Faulcondale, I fancy it is called.” 

“ You look like a Londoner ; what have you been doing ? ” 

“ I am a Londoner, sir ; I have had no regular employ- 
ment, but I’m handy at most things. I broke my ribs, sir ” 
— I saw it was no use talking to him about my father and 
mother — “ so I couldn’t do any hard labor, as I should like 
to ; but gentlemen have been kind to me and given me light 
work now and then — sending me with messages and such 
like. Mr. Brooks, sir, the doctor in the Westminster Bridge 
Road, he said I ought to go in the country, and as I had an 
uncle, sir, at Barstow, I went there. But my uncle is dead, 
sir, so what I’m to do I don’t know, unless I can find some 
kind gentleman to give me employment. I am willing and 
careful, and could learn without giving you much trouble, 
sir.” 

“ You can do what you are told to do ? ” 

“ Oh yes, sir.” 

“ You know how to hold your tongue ? ” 

“ As to that, sir, you may depend . on me. I have often 
been employed by gentlemen on little affairs of a private 


52 


FOUND GUILTY. 


nature, and I’ve always given satisfaction ; I couldn’t have got 
on otherwise with three ribs broke, sir.” 

“ I see you are intelligent, and that is a great thing,” said 
the doctor impressively ; “ what wages do you want ? ” 

“ Whatever I’m worth, sir, to you. I leave it all to you, 
sir.” 

“ Good. I will pay you in proportion to your usefulness. 
And with your intelligence you may make yourself very use- 
ful.” 

He spoke with emphasis, and never took his eyes off me. 
I saw he knew I was telling lies, and liked me none the less 
for it ; and seeing that, it was clear to me at once that he 
wanted me for some other purpose than assisting in the 
laboratory. 

“ What is your name .? ” he asked, pushing back his chair, 
and rising. 

“ Peters, sir,” said I ; “ William Peters.” 

He bade me follow him, and led me to a small room ad- 
joining the laboratory, in which was a truckle-bed, a chair, a 
table, and a washstand ; this, he told me, should be my room. 
He then took me back to the laboratory, told me how I was 
to keep it in order, and then sent me into the kitchen to get 
some food. 

It was necessary to be careful with a man like Dr. Nor- 
man. I had to do with one who was as sharp as myself. If 
he discovered my object in getting into his service, I should 
lose my place at once. I must for the present let Captain 
Bromley alone ; the first thing was to please my master, and 
ensure my position. To do this I must discover what pur- 
pose he had in view when he hinted so pointedly at my 
making myself useful. 

I was not long in discovering that ; and a pretty purpose 
it was. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


53 


CHAPTER VI. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

To comprehend the events that took place at Beauchamp 
Moat House, it is necessary to understand the house itself ; 
and this can easily be done. I will draw a square, and 
mark the four sides with the four points of the compass — 
so : 



These sides will represent the building, the square enclosed 
the courtyard. The side marked N. was the old chapel used 
as a laboratory, with a small room adjoining it, which might 
have been a vestry, and that now served as my bedroom ; 
the side E., in dilapidation and unused, was boarded off from 
the rest of the building ; the side S. was composed of two 
stories, with a stable and coach-house on the ground-floor, 
and some empty rooms above ; the side W. was also composed 
of two floors. A gateway passed through the centre of this 
wing and underneath the upper story. On the north side of 
this gateway was a sitting-room, on the south a dining-room. 
Beyond the dining-room were the kitchen, scullery, etc. ; 
beyond the sitting-room were some rooms filled with lumber ; 
then came the prison-like room that opened into the labora- 
tory. A corridor ran beside the rooms, and opened upon 


54 - 


FOUND GUILTY. 


two staircases leading to the upper story, one on the north, 
and the other on the south side of the gateway. 

Of the upper rooms, one in the north-west angle was 
occupied by Dr. Norman as a sleeping-room ; another at the 
same end was Mrs. Norman’s room ; a small room over the 
gateway was used by Martha, the servant, and beyond this 
was the visitor’s room, now devoted to Captain Bromley. 
Beside the chambers I have mentioned, there w^ere several 
others unfurnished. All were small and dark. 

The first thing I remarked was that Dr. Norman and his 
wife were on bad terms — that is to say, there was an utter 
absence of affection, or even of ordinary friendship, between 
them. They never quarrelled, but, on the other hand, they 
never conversed. He seemed to have the utmost contempt 
for her, she the greatest fear of him. When she had to 
speak to him upon domestic affairs, her question was put 
with fear and trembling, and his answer v/as given in the 
briefest form, and with cold indifference. He spent the 
whole day in the laboratory, only leaving it to take his meals 
in the dining-room, or with the ostensible purpose of going 
to his bed-chamber. He had his room, she hers ; they never 
went out together. When he met her in the presence of 
Captain Bromley, he exerted himself to be agreeable to him ; 
but he never included his wife in the remarks he made, but 
spoke absolutely as though she did not exist. Not once did 
he accompany them in the walks they took. Yet interest of 
a certain kind he took in Mrs. Norman, and scarcely a 
movement escaped his observation. 

The blinds of the three windows in the laboratory were 
constantly drawn. In one of these was a small hole, seem- 
ingly burnt by a cigarette. When the voices of Mrs. Norman 
and Captain Bromley were heard in the court, he would rise 
from the table and go to this hole, watching them long and 
patiently. When they left the court, he would quit the 
laboratory as if to go to his room ; but I soon saw that it 
was bift a pretext to pass along the corridor by the door of 
the sitting-room. 

He wore felt slippers that were noiseless, and peeping 
through the door of the laboratory, I have seen him standing 
in an angle of the lumber-room, and by the door of the 
dining-room. When they went out together into the woods, 
he would give me a list of herbs and roots that I was to go 


FOUND GUILTY. 


55 


and look for, saying, with a significant expression, that I 
might take my time, as there was nothing to do in the labo- 
ratory. 

We understood each other before the end of the week. He 
was jealous of his wife, hated her, and wanted to get rid of 
her, and he employed me to collect evidence against her. I 
was 'a quick-witted and a willing tool in his hands. But we 
both kept up a decent pretence of ignoring the reality. 
Knowing what was wanted of me, I watched Mrs. Norman 
and Captain Bromley closely — more closely than Dr. Norman 
imagined ; for my observation served a double purpose, and 
I was quite as anxious as the doctor to find that a liaison 
existed between them. For if, as I concluded. Captain 
Bromley had the letter, he would certainly attempt to marry 
Miss Howard — since only by that marriage could he profit 
by his theft. But if at the right moment I could surrep- 
titiously convey evidence showing his attachment to Mrs. 
Norman, the marriage, which would defeat my object, would 
be at any rate postponed, and so give me more time to get 
at the letter. And so when I was sent out to search for 
herbs, my first object was to find Mrs. Norman and Captain 
Bromley, and I invariably succeeded ; and I watched them 
as a cat watches fish in a globe. The doctor examined my 
collection very closely when I returned — roots tugged up 
haphazard and herbs gathered pell-mell — and pretended in- 
difference when I mentioned that I had met or seen or heard 
Captain Bromley and Mrs. Norman on the way, and gave him 
particulars of my observations ; but I knew by the money 
he gave me at the end of the week that T had not dis- 
appointed his expectations. The sum of my discoveries 
in the first few weeks was small, perhaps, but sufficient 
to prove to my entire satisfaction that Captain Bromley was 
a villain. 

I don’t mean to say that he was bad enough to suit the 
Surrey Theatre ; but he was of that kind found about once 
a month in the Divorce Court — a fine, handsome fellow, 
indolent, and careless, with nothing on earth to do but to 
amuse himself. I have seen him kiss her when they met 
in the morning ; I have seen him walking with his arm 
about her waist ; but these signs of affection were slight in 
comparison with hers — not that she was at the time guilty 
of any culpable action, but that there was in her manner 


t 


FOUND GUILTY. 


56 

evidence of a passion far deeper than his. She laid herself 
out to please him, and when her efforts seemed to have 
escaped his careless observation, she redoubled them. She 
suited herself to his tastes ; what he liked she liked ; what 
displeased him displeased her. Even when he left her to 
go out alone, she concealed her regret that he might not 
find her troublesome ; and though her expression in his 
absence was marked by anxiety and impatience, there was 
nothing but joyful welcome in her face when he returned. 

But the most convincing proof that he was playing a 
double game lay in the fact that at the very time he was 
philandering with her he was paying his addresses to Miss 
Howard — covertly. 

He never took Mrs. Norman to Faulcondale, nor did he 
bring Miss Howard to the Moat. It was a mystery to me 
how he kept the two apart ; but that he did so showed a 
great amount of address — not to call it cunning. He went 
to Faulcondale two or three times a week. I followed him 
there several times ; and finding means to get some private 
conversation with Eliza, I learnt from her that Miss Doris 
and the Captain were, to use her own words, “ a-sweetheart- 
ing like anything.” 

This gave me much anxiety, and I saw that one of two 
things must be done immediately. The letter must be 
obtained, dr an impediment thrown in the way of a marriage 
between Miss Howard and Captain Bromley. This latter 
course was not to be rashly entered upon, since it would 
inevitably involve an imbroglio fatal to those means of 
investigation which the present condition of things favored. 

The alternative was hazardous in a less degree ; and now, 
having assured myself of Dr. Norman’s favor, I determined 
to make an attempt without further delay to get possession 
of the letter. 

The letter was stolen between the 17th and i8th of June, 
the date — as I learnt from Martha, the deaf and dumb girl, 
through the finger signs, in which I was pretty efficient — 
that Mr. Bromley had arrived at the Moat ; since then he 
had been nowhere except to Lipley and Orwell, which is 
close by, with Mrs. Norman, and to Faulcondale alone. 
Hence I concluded that the stolen letter must be at Beau- 
champ Moat. 

Captain Bromley’s baggage consisted of a portmanteau. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


57 


a Gladstone bag, and a dressing-case. In none of these 
would he be likely to conceal so valuable a treasure as a letter 
worth a quarter of a million of money. The probability was 
that he guarded it in a secret pocket, in a belt, or some such con- 
trivance, from which it might be removed and put under his 
pillow at night. Where he kept it was the first thing to dis- 
cover. To do this his room must be entered while he slept ; 
and that, again, necessitated a clear knowledge of his room, 
and how to get into it after his door was locked. 

I watched my opportunity, and on the afternoon when the 
Captain and Mrs. Norman had gone over to Orwell in the gig, 
to take tea with Dr. Bullen, I went to my master and said in 
my humble tone 

“ If you please, sir, I see that the hook as fastens back 
Captain Bromley’s bedroom window is hanging by one screw. 
If there comes a high wind, it’ll be wrenched off and smash 
the glass, perhaps.” 

“ Do you think you can set it to rights ” he asked care- 
lessly, without looking up from his book. 

“ Yes, sir, with a hammer and a nail,” I replied. 

“'Then go and do it ; but don’t be more than half an hour ; 
I want you to go over to Lipley for some glass tube.” 

“ Right, sir,” said I, and up I ran to Captain Bromley’s 
room with hammer and nails. 

The first thing I did as I opened the door was to look at 
the fastening, and to my dismay I found that it was not fast- 
ened with a lock. Locks I understood thoroughly, but a 
latch which fastens on the inside with a wedge thrust between 
the catch and the clasp no man can pick by any ingenuity. 
I seated myself on the window-sill, and as I tinkered the loose 
hook, I examined the inside of the room and set my wits to 
work. 

There was no chimney. The window was fifteen feet from 
the ground, and there was nothing like a ladder in the place. 
The only way I could see of being in the room when Captain 
Bromley was asleep, was to get into it before he fastened the 
door. 

The furniture consisted of an iron bedstead, a wash-stand, 
a toilet-table, and a couple of chairs. Between the toilet- 
table and the wall lay the portmanteau and the Gladstone bag. 

The bed first struck me as being the best place of con- 
cealment. There wa s a valance to it, and ample room beneath 


FOUND GUILTY. 


58 

it for a man larger than me to lie. I reflected that a man 
like the Captain would not be likely to look under the bed 
before lying down. Only women and cowards do that. But 
then I thought that, thieves being more or less cowardly, 
Captain Bromley might take the precaution to lift the valance. 
I didn’t like that idea. Still fiddling the hook about, I looked 
all around the room for another hiding-place. There was 
no wardrobe or cupboard. Then my eyes fell on the toilet- 
table. That also had a valance of pink chintz covered with 
muslin. The space beneath was small indeed, but for a small 
man who had undergone some education as an acrobat 

I finished the hook, and tried the toilet-table. Sitting on 
my heels and tucking in my head, I could just manage to find 
room without touching the chintz. “ This will do,” thought 
I ; “ nobody thinks of looking under the toilet-table.” I made 
a triangular rent in the chintz on a level with my eye, and, 
drawing down the corner, got a view of the bed and three 
sides of the room through the muslin. I replaced the stuff 
and crawled out. The tear was not noticeable from the out- 
side. I was well satisfied. 

Fearing Dr. Norman would suspect me, I picked up my 
hammer and nails, and ran down to the laboratory. My 
master wrote an order for the glass tube, gave me half a 
crown to pay for it, and sent me off to Lipley — a distance of 
six miles. 

I was pretty well tired out when I returned, but after tea 
my spirits revived, and I resolved to make the attempt that 
very night. 

At nine o’clock Dr. Norman left the laboratory, telling me 
I could go to bed when I pleased. I went into my room, 
took off my boots, and five minutes later put out the light. 

I crossed the laboratory in my stocking feet, passed through 
the lumber-room, and crept along the corridor to the stair- 
case — slipping quickly from corner to corner, and not quit- 
ting one place of safety before I had fixed upon the next. 

It was comparatively light, being only in the early days of 
July ; indeed, there was more light than I wished for. How- 
ever, I got without accident to the top of the stairs, and there 
I felt safe. I heard the maid’s step at the other end of the 
passage, where a light showed that she was in Mrs. Norman’s 
room. I slipped like an eel into Captain Bromley’s room, 
and in a minute was sitting on my heels under the toilet-table. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


59 


Presently Martha came along the passage, the light grew 
stronger, and she entered the room. Through the triangular 
rent I saw her turn down the bed, delightfully unconscious 
that I was watching her. She looked round the room to see 
if anything else was to be done, and then went away. This 
augured well. 

1 stretched my legs out, and sat there patiently until mid- 
night, when the opening of a door below, and the sound of 
voices, warned me to be on the alert. I drew in my legs, sat 
on my heels, cramped myself together, and felt cautiously 
around to be sure that the chintz fell all right. 

I dared scarcely breathe ; my heart seemed to be in my 
throat as the door opened, and a flood of pink light came 
through the chintz. For a time I had no thought but to hold 
myself still and control my breathing ; but as I heard the 
jingle of keys on a ring, and the click of a lock, I ventured 
cautiously to pull down the triangle of chintz and put my eye 
to the opening. Captain Bromley was seated at the foot of 
the bed ; he had the Gladstone bag on his knees. His exam- 
ination was finished ; he closed the bag, turned the key, 
dropped the bag on the floor beside his chair, and, rising, 
slipped the keys into his pocket, humming a tune. 

He moved ; I lost sight of him ; I could see nothing, and 
the next moment the chintz touched my face, and the toe of 
his boot under the valance was within an inch of my fingers. 
I ceased breathing, for I thought it was all up with me. But 
it was a false alarm. I heard his collar fall on the table, and 
then the sound of his watch being wound up. Then he moved 
away, still humming, and I looked again through the rent in 
the valance. He was slipping his watch under the pillow 
After that he threw off his clothes carelessly upon a chair, 
blew out the light, and I heard a rustle of bedclothes, and 
all was silent. 

I waited until I heard him breathing deeply and regularly ; 
then I slowly and carefully uncurled myself, and slipped inch 
by inch from under the table. 

It was not dark, although twelve had struck. I could see 
the position of everything in the room. With the utmost 
caution I crept along the wall, raised the latch, and set the 
door wide open. I had to pass the bed to get at the chair on 
which the Captain had flung his clothes. 

I crawled past on my hands and knees, lest, waking, he 


6o 


FOUND GUILTY. 


might catch sight of me against the window. And now the 
delicate work of searching the clothes began. Everything 
depended on address — and luck. The slightest accident 
might alarm the sleeper and entail discovery — a pencil drop- 
ping from a pocket, a coin rolling upon the floor. Inch by 
inch I separated the articles of clothing and got them safely 
on to the ground. Then, listening with every movement, to 
be sure that there was no alteration in Captain Bromley’s 
breathing, I spread out his jacket and slid my hands into the 
pockets. I don’t know whether the night was particularly 
light, or whether my intense excitement gave additional 
sensitiveness to my eyesight ; but certain it is that, independent 
of my sense of touch, I distinguished clearly the nature of the 
papers I got out of the pockets. There were several letters, 
but they were stamped ; that which I was after had none, I 
knew. I didn’t for a moment expect the letter to be in these 
pockets, and amongst other papers. Careless as Captain 
Bromley was, such a piece of foolhardiness was not to be 
hoped for. It was scarcely worth the risk to look there ; but 
at the same time no possiblity could be neglected. I searched 
every pocket, replacing the things — each as I proceeded, and 
in the order I had found them. 

Then I proceeded to a systematic and close examination 
of the clothing apart from the pockets. And here my hopes 
lay ; I hoped to find, somewhere between the cloth and the 
lining, a sewn packet. I took each vestment, and doubling 
the material, I rolled it between my thumb and finger in all 
its length and breadth. I even went so far as to make a like 
investigation of his shirt and neck-scarf. There was nothing 
there. I was disappointed, but not disheartened, nor in any 
way shaken in my belief. I only entertained a higher opinion 
of Captain Bromley — as a thief. 

The clock in the kitchen had struck three when I gave up 
my long and patient search as hopeless in that direction, and 
I carefully restored the clothing to its original position on the 
chair. 

Once only the Captain had moved ; but the day was com- 
ing on, the light growing stronger, and every movement I 
made was fraught with greater danger. 

I ought to have abandoned my search for that night at this 
point ; but I was like a gambler, tempted to play on in the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


6 


face of ruin. Kneeling beside the chair, I resolved in my 
mind what I might yet do before going. 

I have heard of thieves who daily change their place of 
hiding, lest that which escaped search to-day may be looked 
into to-morrow. Captain Bromley was clever enough for 
that, and the letter, though not in his clothes now, might be 
next time I got a chance of searching. I glanced at the 
window, and my heart quaked as I saw how faintly the few 
remaining stars twinkled in the gray sky. Then, turning my 
eyes to the Gladstone bag which I had seen him closing the 
very last thing before going to bed, a desperate resolution 
seized me to look into that before giving up my search. 

It was on the other side of the room, and I must again 
pass between the bed and the window. 

I got the keys out of his pocket, taking one after the other 
into my hands to avoid sound, and, clasping them tight in the 
palm of my hand, began to crawl past the bed. Turning 
my eyes towards the pillow, I distinctly saw the sleeper’s 
face, gray in that half-light. At that very moment I heard 
a movement at the window, and a rattle of the iron hook that 
held open the lattice window. I dared not stir, but stopped 
there rigid — even to the hair of my head — with my eyes fixed 
on the sleeper’s face. 

“ Chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, tswe — e ! ” This was 
the sound that came from a sparrow, a swallow, or some such 
idiotic bird, that had settled right in the open window ; and 
it seemed to my ear loud enough to be heard on the other 
side of the parish. 

Captain Bromley’s breathing changed with a little jerk ; he 
closed his lips and parted them, and again that cry came 
from the window : 

“ Chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, tswe — e ! ” 

I declare his eyes opened, and then he threw up his shoul- 
der and turned his face from the light. I never in my life 
felt such heartfelt gratitude. 

The movement had frightened the bird away, and now, ren- 
dered bold by my escape, I crossed to the bag, unlocked it 
with one of the keys on the ring, and opened it. I slid my 
hand down on the right side, and then on the left, with my 
fingers spread out, and passing from end to end of the lining. 
There was a pocket in the left side for letters ; it was empty, 
but below I felt something that lay between the lining and 


62 


FOUND GUILTY. 


the leather. I lifted the flaps of the pocket, and slid my fin- 
gers inside ; there was a slit in the lining close under the flap 
wide enough for my four fingers to pass. There was a letter 
there ; I got hold of the edge of it between my second and 
third fingers, and drew it up carefully through the slit. One 
glance was enough to fill me with a wild feeling of triumph — 
it was unstaniped ! 

I held it so that the light fell upon it, and read these 
words : 

“ Dorothea Howard. 

{To be opened after her marriage^ and not before^ ” 

The blood tingled and throbbed in my veins, and for the 
first time I lost my head. An unguarded movement caused 
me to drop the keys upon the floor. The jingle was not half 
so loud as the call of the bird in the window, and had I kept 
perfectly still all would have been well ; but at that moment 
I was unsettled by my success, and thinking only of saving 
what I had won at such hazard and with such good luck, I 
bolted for the door. I heard a cry and a heavy footfall as I 
got into the passage, but I was down the stairs and in the 
corridor before the “ pat, pat, pat ” of his naked feet on the 
bare boards of the passage fell on my ear. 

I shot past the sitting-room, through the lumber-rooms and 
the laboratory, and getting to my own little cell, I stripped off 
my clothes in a minute and slid into bed, still holding the 
precious paper in my hand. 


CHAPTER VH. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THE REV. DR. BULLEN. 

In the first week of August Captain Bromley asked me to 
take lunch with him at the George — an excellent hotel at Lip- 
ley — and this invitation I accepted with pleasure, for I liked 
the young gentleman, and I have no distaste to a good lunch 
now and then. 

It was now six weeks since I had first become acquainted 
with him, and having in that time had ample opportunity for 


FOUND GUILTY. 


63 


examining his character, I found no reason to change the 
pleasant opinion our first interview had created. He was 
open and truthful, simple as a child ; but this did not blind 
me to the danger of Mrs. Norman, and the harm that might 
arise from the very innocence of their relations. So I re- 
solved that we should not part on this occasion before I had 
spoken out my mind. 

We had a most excellent lunch and a capital bottle of port 
after it ; and that being finished, I proposed that we should 
go over to the Moat together and take a cup of tea with Mrs. 
Norman, after which it would be nothing but a pleasant walk 
home for me in the fresh of the evening. 

Accordingly we got into the gig, and when we had settled 
down into our places and were jogging along, I began my 
attack. 

“ Well, my friend," said I, “ when do you think of leaving 
the Moat ? " 

“ Upon my honor, I can’t tell you," said he lightly. “ I 
came to stay five or six days ; I have been here as many 
weeks, and in all probability I shall stay as many more." 

“ I think not, sir," said I, quietly knocking the ash off my 
cigar — as good a cigar as ever I wish to smoke. 

He looked at me, laughing, but seeing I was as grave as a 
judge, he became instantly serious himself. 

“ Why not ? " he asked. 

“ Because you ought not to stay," said I. 

He reflected a moment, as if inquiring of himself what duty 
he had neglected, and he repeated his former question : 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ On Mrs. Norman’s account," I replied. 

“ Why, ’tis precisely on her account that I am staying," 
said he, in a tone of surprise. 

“ I know it. But it is, nevertheless, for her sake that you 
should go away." 

“ Upon my word, I don’t understand you ! ’’ said he, after 
another pause. 

“ Mrs. Norman has changed in a remarkable manner since 
you first brought her to see me." 

“ Thank heaven, she has ! " 

Thank heaven, say I, if she has more strength to over- 
come the difficulties that beset her. Come, sir, tell me to 
what cause you attribute her alteration." 


64 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ To a variety of causes. Let us set the friendship of an 
amiable and indulgent divine at the top of the list ” 

“ And underneath,” said 1, “certain comforts in the form 
of furniture and decorative surroundings with v/hich you have 
provided her — after that ? ” 

“ After that,” said Captain Bromley in a graver tone, “ I 
should attribute all to an earnest and persevering endeavor 
to stimulate her husband’s affection and command his re- 
spect.” 

“ Why, this is good news,” cried I, delighted with this un- 
expected turn ; “ tell me all about it, sir, for as I have never 
yet had the good fortune to see Dr. Norman, I have been in 
ignorance of what has passed between him and his wife.” 

“ Unfortunately, there is very little to tell you,” said he. 
“ When Edith told me about the unhappy estrangement be- 
tween her husband and herself, I suggested that possibly she 
herself was partly to blame, and that, had she studied to 
please him, she might have won back his affection.” 

“ Why, that was well said ! ” I exclaimed. 

“ I pointed out to her,” continued Captain Bromley, “ how 
susceptible we men are to the influence of little things, and 
told her how much happier I felt in her society now she was 
brightly dressed and lively in mood than when I found her 
dowdy and dull. I give you my word, parson,” he added, 
“ that, with the best intentions in the world, I couldn’t have 
stood much more than a week of it at the Moat, if she had 
been as dismal and distressing to look at at the end of the 
week as she was at the beginning.” 

“ That is perfectly natural,” said I ; “ the most unselfish of 
us is more anxious to linger in the society of a bright and 
vivacious woman than beside a poor, dowdy, miserable soul, 
whose sorrows seem to pray for solitude. Well, sir, and what 
effect had your remarks upon Mrs. Norman ? ” 

“ The best I could have wished for. She eagerly accepted 
my suggestion, and set herself resolutely to attract her hus- 
band. She plucked up courage to speak to him, kissed him 
in the morning, laid herself out to be entertaining in his 
presence, and took a sensible view of her position. She 
went so far as to speculate upon the future, saying that 
when her husband had made a position for himself, he would 
be glad to have a bright and attractive wife at the head of his 
table.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


65 

“ Capital, capital ! ” said I ; “ and how is it working in the 
other direction — what success have her endeavors had upon 
her husband ? ” 

“ None at all,” said Captain Bromley bitterly ; “ on the 
contrary, she seems to have made him only the more morose. 
Her approaches clearly displease him. His looks say as 
plain as words, ‘ What does this nonsense mean ? You 
like me no better than I like you ; why do you make this 
scheming pretence of liking me more ? ’ ” 

My spirits fell to hear this, and my old suspicion returned. 

“ Her assumed gaiety ” continued Captain Bromley. 

“ Assumed ! ” I cried, interrupting him. “ Mrs. Norman’s 
gaiety has not seemed to me unreal, but simply the natural 
outcome of better health and spirits.” 

“ It may be so,” said Captain Bromley ; “ at any rate, her 
gaiety displeases Norman. Her cheerful tone jars upon his 
sense. Her happiness is displeasing to his jealous temper.” 

“ You believe he is both jealous and morose ? ” I asked. 

“ I am sure of it,” he replied. 

“ Good heavens, sir ! ” I cried, “ is Mrs. Norman a fool ? ” 

“ No, certainly not, ” he answered with some warmth. 

“ Then she is blind to a fact which is obvious to you ; and 
do you think that if her main object in dressing well and 
assuming a lively bearing is to win her husband’s affection, 
she would persevere in a course which is palpably displeasing 
to him?” 

“ What on earth are you driving at, parson ? ” 

“ You haven’t answered my question yet, ” said I. 

‘‘ Well, your reasoning obliges me to accept your view 
that Mrs. Norman’s gaiety is not forced, but the natural 
result of better health and spirits.” 

“ Can you tell me what had brought her spirits to the 
deplorable condition they were in when you first brought her 
to me ? ” 

“ Yes ; her husband’s neglect, indifference, and harshness.” 

“ And do you attribute the improvement in her spirits to 
his being rather more harsh now she is gay than when she 
was sad ? ” I waited a minute, and then, as he did not 
answer, I continued, “ Come, we will take another side of the 
question. We have seen that Mrs. Norman’s natural or 
assumed gaiety remains uninfluenced by her husband’s 
undisguised displeasure. Has it remained at the same high 

5 


FOUND GUILTY. 


66 ' 


pitch when you left her to go to your friends at Faulcondale ? ” 

“ She has tried to conceal disappointment.” 

“ She has been disappointed ? ” 

“ That is very natural. She would like to know the people 
at Faulcondale — she has said so ; but she cannot make 
their acquaintance in defiance of her husband’s expressed 
wish to the contrary.” 

“ That is something to know,” said I. 

“ And now, sir,” said Captain Bromley, in a tone of irrita- 
tion, “ what do you deduct from all this ? ” 

“ This, sir,” said I ; “ that Mrs. Norman has become 
dangerously attached to you.” I saw that I had affronted 
him, but I continued, “ Don’t be offended ; I speak to you 
without form or ceremony, as one honest man may speak to 
another, and you must not resent a little rough treatment in 
being saved from a perilous position, though it will make no 
difference -to me if you do. It is my duty to speak, and I tell 
you that your kindness and attentions have awakened a sen- 
timent in Mrs. Norman which is dangerous to her future 
happiness and to yours.” 

He laughed. 

“ Why, don’t you know ” cried he, and then stopped. 

“ Yes, I know that she is your foster-sister — a most dan- 
gerous relationship. To you, who have possibly set your 
affections upon another, it may seem impossible that harm 
should come from your love of a foster-sister ; but Mrs. Nor- 
man, who has no such safeguard — do you think it impossible 
that she should love you ? ” 

‘‘ It is not impossible that she might, but I am confident 
that she could not look at me with an untroubled face if she 
did.” 

“ That I believe as fully as you do. She may yet conceive 
that her affection for you is no more than that of a sister for 
a brother. But it is more, and it is of the greatest importance 
that you should go at once. That face must not be troubled 
with the consciousness of an impossible passion.” 

I think you take an exaggerated view of the case,” he 
said in a calmer tone, after some minutes of reflection, which 
I had been careful not to disturb. 

“ I hope I do,” said I ; “ but we must guard against the 
possibility of such a grave rnisfortune. A good many of us, 
having fallen, turn round angrily to look on the ground be- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


67 

hind us for the cause of our accident ; but if we had used 
but a little of that caution in looking ahead we should not 
have slipped at all. I hope that my suspicion of a still graver 
complication is also exaggerated.” 

He asked me to explain. 

“ Tell me,” said I, “ do you think that Dr. Norman would 
be glad to get rid of his wife ” 

“Yes, I do. He would gain money by it, and recover a 
certain amount of liberty which he sacrificed for money.” 

“ He is unscrupulous ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly. He professes a cynical contempt for what 
are called principles, and declares that he, in common 
with all mankind, is actuated solely by motives of self- 
interest.” 

“ It is not unjust, then,” said I, “ to judge him by his own 
laws. Now, how is his interest served by tolerating your 
presence under his roof ? He has forbidden Mrs. Norman to 
form acquaintance with her neighbors ; he has encouraged 
you to stay ; he has by his harshness compelled his wife to 
seek sympathy and support from you ; he has thrown you to- 
gether ; he has, as it were, instituted a comparison between 
himself and you to his own disadvantage. What is he to 
gain — he who does nothing without a motive of self-interest 
— by this ? ” 

“ Upon my honor,” he said, “ I can’t make out, unless — ” 

He checked himself. 

“ Unless,” I continued, “ he has foreseen that affection 
under these terms might ripen into love, and love to a passion 
that would enable him to cut his bonds with the sword of 
justice.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” exclaimed Captain Bromley, “ can you 
believe he is such a villain ? ” 

“ I will believe he is a saint,” said I, “ if you can prove 
it by a logical deduction from the premises you have laid 
down.” 


We said not a word after this for a good ten minutes, 
w’hen we overtook the postman, who, seeing Captain Brom- 
ley, took a letter from his bag and handed it up. I held the 
reins while he opened and read it, and he took them, having 
read it, and put the letter in my hand for me to read. 


68 


FOUND GUILTY. 


It was headed, Fairlawn, Wimbledon,” and ran as near 
as I can recollect in these words : 

“ My Dear Son, 

“ The heat of the past week has tried me greatly. Dr. 
Langdon tells me I must go to Scarborough — a long and pain- 
ful journey for a suffering old woman. Only my dear Val 
can make it a pleasant one to me. Need I say more } 

Your Loving Mother.” 

I looked at him questioningly as I returned the letter. 

“ Providence is on your side, parson,” said he with a 
smile. 

Mrs. Norman, I fancy, did not know I was in the room 
when Captain Bromley gave her his mother’s letter to read. 

“Of course you will go, dear.?” she said, when she had 
read it. 

“ Yes,” said he ; “ there’s a train leaves Barstow soon after 
nine.” 

“ So soon ? ” she cried, the color going out of her face. 
Then, seeing reproach in his regard, she added penitently, 
“ Oh, I am heartless and selfish ; I ought to have thought of 
poor mamma, and not of myself.” 

“ What message shall I take from you ? ” he asked. 

“ I will write a letter,” she replied ; “ but you can tell her 
that you left me bright and happy.” The tears filled her eyes, 
and her lips quivered as she spoke. “ For, indeed, dear,” she 
added earnestly, as she dashed away the tears with her hand- 
kerchief, “ I mean to be brave, although I don’t perhaps, look 
so just now ; and I mean to be just as light-hearted and 
strong as if you were here. I am never going to be stupid 
again.” 

I was happy to see that she was as ignorant of her real 
feelings as the Captain had been. But the nature of those 
feelings was betrayed later on. She had been looking at 
the time-table. 

“ Nine-fifteen,” she said. “If I order a gig for half-past 
seven it will be time enough, won’t it, dear ? ” 

“ Better say half-past six,” said Valentine ; “ I shall 
stop at Faulcondale on my way to say good-bye.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


69 

“ Oh yes, you must not forget your new friends,” she said 
in a tone of forced gaiety, and then, with some confusion, 
_ she added, “ I had forgotten them — that is, I — I — I — did 
not know if you would go by Faulcondale.” 

Then she turned away to conceal her shame, for she 
knew that she was not telling the truth. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

We were taking tea on the lawn under the mulberry-tree, 
my dear old guardian, Miss Trevor and I, when Eliza, who 
had been sent to the farm to order the chaise to be prepared, 
came to us all agape with a letter which she said she had 
found lying in the middle of the road. 

It was addressed to me, and there was no stamp on it. I 
rose and turned from the table to open it, feeling that my face 
was betraying a secret which I dared not yet tell even to my 
professor. For, I knew not why, it struck me that this letter 
was from Captain Bromley, yet had I considered a moment 
I should have rejected the notion, because the writing was 
not that of an accomplished gentleman, but rather of a 
schoolboy, painfully careful of detail, and because, had the 
letter been sent by a messenger and been accidentally 
dropped by him, he could not have failed to find it, seeing 
that it lay, Eliza said, right in the middle of the road, 
and not six yards from the garden-gate. But I had been 
thinking a good deal about Captain Bromley in the after- 
noon, and felt a silly kind of presentiment that he would 
surprise us with a visit some time that day ; and so it was, I 
suppose, that I jumped to the conclusion that this must be 
a letter from him. 

As I opened the letter an enclosed piece of paper fell to 
the ground. The letter commanded my first attention. There 
was neither address, date, nor signature. These are the 
words as I remember them : 

“ Beware of Captain Valentine Bromley, now staying at 


70 


FOUND GUILTY, 


Beauchamp Moat. Your fortune is in his hands. He will, 
before long, attempt to obtain a legal right to it by making you 
his wife. The enclosed piece of tissue-paper is cut exactly 
to the size of the letter stolen by him from the desk of Pro- 
fessor Schlobach on the night of June the i8th, and the 
writing upon it is traced from the address written by your 
father. The letter is in his possession. If this evidence 
does not convince you of his character, and you are still 
deceived by the flattery and attentions that I am sure he is 
offering to you, inquire closely into his doings at Beauchamp 
Moat, and find out what his feelings are towards Mrs. Nor- 
man, in whose company his time is chiefly spent.” 

I would read no more. I crumpled up the letter in my hand 
and threvv it upon the ground in passionate anger. It was 
not merely indignation at the aspersion of a friend’s charac- 
ter — it was a less justifiable feeling than that. I was wrong 
again, as I ever am in my passion. Presently I was seized 
b}^ a burning curiosity to know the end of the letter, and I 
took it up and read it to the end. 

“Your only safeguard against becoming the dupe and 
the victin of a heartless and mercenary scoundrel,” the 
letter continued, “ is tc reject any proposal he makes, or at 
least to postpone your answer until a fair time has been 
allowed for the recovery of the stolen letter. In a few 
weeks — perhaps in a few days — further proof of Valentine 
Bromley’s real character shall be given you. 

“ I will only add one or two facts in support of this pres- 
ent warning. Since Valentine Bromley came to Beauchamp 
Moat he has spent upwards of three hundred pounds in 
Presses and other things for Mrs. Norman. He has taken 
her often to Lipley, but never to Faulcondale. He has in- 
troduced her to a friend who frequently visits them at the 
Moat-house, but I know well enough that he has never 
invited you to visit Mrs. Norman, for reasons which you 
may easily guess.” 

As I finished reading my hand dropped by my side with 
the letter in it. Then I perceived that the professor was 
standing near me, and regarding me with anxiety. 

“ What is it, my dear child, eh .? ” he asked gently. 

“ Read that,” said I, putting the letter in his hand ; and 
as he was reading I picked up the slip of paper that had fallen 
out at first, and discovered that the traced writing upon it was 


FOUND GUILTY, 


7 ^ 


exactly like the address upon my father’s letter to me, which 
I had often seen. That increased the rancor in my jealous 
heart, for it seemed to my blindly prejudiced mind to confirm 
the worst that had been said against Captain Bromley. And 
in my estimation the worst was that I had been cheated and 
duped, not in my fortune, but in my affections. To tell the 
truth, I never once thought of the possibility that Captain 
Bromley was a thief. That was too absurd to believe. It 
did not admit of reasoning. He had not stolen the letter, 
simply because he could not do such a thing as that ; and 
evidence piled up to the clouds would not have convinced me 
that he had done so. Yet I was willing to believe at a hint 
that he had made a plaything of my heart by pretending a 
love he did not feel. A clever woman might analyze this fact 
and show why of two charges I should believe the one and 
reject the other. I suppose one had to be dealt with by my 
reason, the other by my sentiments. 

I put the slip of paper into the professor’s hand as he closed 
the open sheet. He laid the two together, and with a grunt 
of contempt tore the two in half, and again, and then again. 

“Tell me what it means,” said I. 

“ It means,” he replied, in a great wrath, “ it means that 
this is all an infamous tam lie — every word of it. And you 
did well to throw it away from you, but you did not do well 
to pick it up again.” With that he threw the pieces of paper 
upon the ground and put his heel upon them. “ What ! ” he 
exclaimed, in such anger as I had never before seen, his smooth 
face growing crimson, his heavy cheeks shaking with the 
force of his indignant speech, “ what ! shall we believe ill of 
our friend because his enemy wrongs him > Shall we think 
an honest man false because a liar speaks falsely of him .? 
and shall we shut our eyes to all that is good, that we may 
only know what is whispered in our ears ? and put our trust 
in lies and our mistrust in truth Our friend is the honest 
man, and the creature who wrote that letter and dared not 

sign it, he is the villain ; and I was a fool ” He paused 

and brought out a letter from his inside pocket. “ Look ! ” 
said he, showing me the letter, “ it is the same writing — and 
it is from ‘ X.,’ and I was a fool to listen to him at first, but 
be sure I will not listen to him again. He is not very clever, 
either — this chap ! He tells you the letter is in Captain 
Bromley’s hands, and look here — he can put a piece of paper 


72 


FOUND GUILTY. 


over it and trace the address ! Do you think that Captain 
Bromley lent the letter to this ‘X.’ to copy, eh ? To be a 
fool as well as a villain, this dear friend of ours ? And do 
you think if this tam clever ‘ X.’ got the letter from our 
friend to copy he would give it him back again ? It is all 
nonsense, and silly nonsense as well. This ‘ X.’ stole the 
letter, he has never let it go out of his hands, and he has got 
it now ; but he thinks he must make up this story that we 
may not send him to prison for having robbed us, and that 
he may get the money I was fool enough to offer him ; ” and 
then, dropping his voice from its angry pitch to its customary 
tone of gentleness, he added, “ Don’t you see that, my dear ? ” 

“ Yes, I see that,” said I, grateful to him for speaking in 
defence of Captain Bromley. 

“ Then why do you still look troubled ? ” he asked. 

“ I do not know ; I cannot answer that question to my- 
self.” 

“ My poor child,” he said, laying his hand tenderly on my 
shoulder, “ I think I know, for I myself am troubled ; ” and he 
went on to show how any calumny, however false, thrown 
upon people we love and honor must give us pain. But it 
was not so easy to explain away the torment from my heart, 
for I had very little philosophy in my head. But I deter- 
mined to reason myself into a better frame of mind if I could, 
so I left him and went down the garden, feeling that I was 
better alone. 

As my ideas fell into order and took form, I felt aggrieved 
because Captain Bromley had not introduced Mrs. Norman 
to us — the only fact in the letter that was incontestable, a 
trifle, indeed, and which I should have been ashamed to think 
of. But I was jealous, and that explains all. And the more 
arguments I brought to prove that Captain Bromley was 
right, the more he seemed wrong, and the more sore this little 
grievance became. 

Of course. Captain Bromley could not introduce Mrs. 
Norman to us against her wish, nor us to her without an 
invitation from her. Nor could he bring about an introduc- 
tion on either side if he thought that Mrs. Norman was not 
the kind of person I should like to know. And I had not 
shown any predisposition to like her (but, indeed, had been 
jealous of her influence from the very beginning of my liking 
for Captain Bromley), though I thought she must be an extra- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


73 


ordinarily nice person for him to be so very fond of her. To 
be sure, she was his foster-sister ; but there must be some- 
thing more than that artificial relationship to account for his 
extreme partiality, since Miss Austen, who was an authority 
and had undisputed knowledge of human character, had 
written that sisters are amongst the most troublesome incum- 
brances with which a young gentleman can be afflicted. 

Very likely Mrs. Norman was as little anxious to know me 
as I to know her, for she was probably one of those worldly 
persons who consider only their own interests, and wishing 
to monopolize Captain Bromley’s attention, she preferred 
only to invite people like the old clergyman Captain Bromley 
had mentioned, for whom he could have but a feeble interest, 
rather than friends — like the professor and Miss Trevor — for 
whom he had a solid affection. 

It was no affair of mine whether he indulged Mrs. Norman’s 
caprices or not. And thus, having in an ill-natured and un- 
generous spirit exonerated him from the only fault that could 
be charged to him, I proceeded with the same inconsistency 
to release him from an engagement he had never made. It 
was thus my thoughts ran on. 

I said to myself that he was perfectly free to do as he liked. 
He was under no obligation to us ; on the contrary, we were 
indebted to him for many hours of agreeable conversation. 
He had never overstepped the limits of friendship ; the notion 
that he contemplated making me his wife, or that he had any 
feelings towards me beyond those of ordinary friendship, was 
absurd. It was clear he could not care a bit for me, or he 
would not care so much for Mrs. Norman. And that being 
so, it behooved me to let him see that I had no feeling of any 
kind for him, except that of perfect friendship. 

But the possibility that I might have betrayed another 
kind of feeling, that he might have been led to think by some 
stupid act of mine that I was infatuated with him, and that I 
hoped to become his wife — that, in short, I cared for him 
more than he cared for me — so stung my pride that I would, 
had it been possible, have recalled the past and substituted 
for my unrestrained enjoyment of his society, which had 
been very pleasant, a cold reserve, which must have been 
uncomfortable for us both. 

It had been arranged that we should go for a drive that 
evening, but when the chaise was brought to the door I was 


74 


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Still walking in the garden in ill-humor, though I saw through 
the scarlet-runners that Miss Trevor was dressed in her silk 
pelisse, and with her French curls brought well out in front 
of her bonnet ; and then the professor came out in his black 
coat and green kid gloves, and finding me, asked if I was 
ready to join them. But 1 begged him to leave me at home, 
that I might get over my ill-temper without spoiling his 
pleasure. 

“ As you will, my child,” he said gently. And so they went 
off, looking both very unhappy ; and I knew that I was 
childish and wrong, and that I ought to have gone with them 
and shaken off my morbid feelings for their sakes and my 
own credit. And I was heartily sorry before the chaise was 
out of sight. I felt most unhappy, and stood for a long while 
on the lawn under the mulberry-tree, my arm resting against 
the trunk and my cheek against my arm, and my heart ach- 
ing for a good cry. 

Under the impression that some time before nightfall I 
should see Captain Bromley, I had put on the dress he liked 
— the dress in which he said I reminded him of Sir Joshua 
Reynolds’ portrait of Mrs. Siddons. It was a blue-and-white 
striped silk, fitting my arms tightly, with puffs and an open 
neck, and I wore a white cambric handkerchief with it crossed 
on my bosom. 

I thought to myself that it was no matter now whether 
he liked it or not, and that I would go up and change it for 
anything else, and never put it on again. 

But just at that moment I heard the sound of wheels, and 
knew they were those of the chaise with the hood, in which 
Captain IBromley came over. 

I started up from my despondent position, my heart beat- 
ing quickly, and my face growing hot, and for a moment the 
old feeling returning to me. I was under the impulse to run 
out to the gate ; indeed, I had advanced a couple of steps 
before I recollected the attitude it was necessary for me to 
assume now. Then, checking myself with the reflection that 
he had merely come out for an hour’s distraction, I resolved 
to teach him that his amusement was not to be had at my 
expense. 

As the chaise stopped at the front of the house, I ran 
quickly down the garden to the seat where Eliza sat shelling 
some late peas, and told the girl that someone had come to 


FOUND GUILTY. 


75 


the house, and that if it was a visitor she might say where 
I was to be found ; and, taking the basin out of her hand, I 
added that I would finish her work and she need not return. 
And as she went away I seated myself on the bench, taking 
the basin and some peas in my lap. 

My fingers were idle, and I listened in breathless silence until 
I heard his well-known firm footsteps coming down the path ; 
then I set to work with a will, and pretended to be humming 
a tune. 

Ah ! what a grievous disappointment it would have been 
had he gone away without coming down the garden to see 
me ; and what a flutter of excitement, irritation, and, let me 
add, fondness was in my heart ! 

For I admit now, what nothing on earth would have made 
me acknowledge then, that, for all my contradiction and 
jealousy, I loved Valentine. And — little fool that I was — I 
thought then that I could almost hate him. 

I would not turn my head until he was quite close to me, 
and greeted me with a good evening. Then, half rising, 
with the peas in my lap, and extending my hand with pre- 
tended difficulty, I said carelessly. ' 

“ Ah, it is you. I thought it might be.” 

“ Is that why you didn’t turn your head to see who was 
coming down the path ? ” he asked quietly. 

“ I am so occupied this evening,” said I. 

“ I see you are,” he said ; “ unusually occupied.” 

“ The professor and Miss Trevor have gone out in the 
chaise. They have not been gone long ; I dare say you 
could overtake them with your horse.” 

“ Would you like me to try ? ” he asked, in a tone which 
left me in doubt whether he was serious or not, for I would 
not raise my eyes to look at him. 

“ That is as you please,” I returned, not without a fear 
lest he should act upon my suggestion. 

“ Then I shall please to stay where I am,” said he ; “ and 
if it will lighten your labors, I shall be pleased to shell peas 
with you.” 

He spoke now with that mock gravity which he assumed 
when I was capricious, and removing the basket of peas from 
the stool on which it stood, seated himself before me, put 
the basket between his knees, and broke the shells over the 
basin in my lap. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


76 

There was silence for some minutes, only broken by the 
pop of the peas-cods, and I began to feel that the advantage 
was not all on my side. 

“ Mrs. Norman is quite well, I hope t ” said I, in a formal 
tone, when it was necessary that one of us should speak. 

“Yes,” he replied, “ or I should not have left her.” 

The popping of the pea-shells again became painfully 
noticeable. I was annoyed. If he had only shown surprise 
or anger, it would have given me an opportunity for being 
sarcastic and cool. But he seemed to be in exasperating 
good-humor. I felt that he was looking at my hands and 
my face — admiring them, perhaps, or secretly laughing at me. 

“ The professor is quite well .? ” he said after a while. 

“ Yes — or probably he would have stayed at home,” I re- 
plied, remembering his retort. 

“ Then I am doubly glad he is in good health,” said he 
gallantly. 

“ You do me honor to imply that you came expressly to 
see me,” said I, glad of the opportunity to be ironical, and 
hoping it would lead to further hostilities. 

“ I did come with that wish,” said he ; “ not that I should 
like to leave, though, without saying farewell to our dear old 
professor.” 

“ Farewell ! ” I echoed, all envy, malice, and uncharitable- 
ness flying out of my heart, and better feelings returning in 
a flood at the sound of that touching word. “ Farewell ! ” I 
repeated, looking at him, and not trying to disguise the 
regret and alarm I felt. 

“ I am going away,” said he, looking at his watch, “ in 
half an hour.” 

Half an hour — and he would be gone. And I had wasted 
the time in stupid silence and ill-natured banter! And I 
might no more see him who had filled a few hours with a 
greater happiness than had been spread over all the years of 
my happy life ! 

He looked into my eyes, and, thinking that he must read 
the feeling that agitated my heart, I bent my head and went 
on shelling peas. 

He took the basket from his knees and set it aside; then, 
leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he watched 
my fingers, that I tried in vain to prevent trembling, in 
silence for a moment. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


77 


“ I want you to do something for me,” he said gravely. 

“ I will do anything in my power,” I replied. 

“ I am sure of that,” he said, speaking very low and 
earnestly. He waited a moment, and then continued : “ It 
is a service that only you can render, and which must be a 
secret one to succeed. It relates to Edith. I found her ill, 
as you know. Her illness was due entirely, I believe, to a 
morbid dread of her husband.” 

“ Dr. Norman ? ” 

“ Dr. Norman. Her dread, I am convinced, was ground- 
less. He is simply a scientific man, engrossed in studies, 
and with very little kind feeling. Living in perfect isolation 
with him, she fell into a wretched condition of health and 
feeling. Since I have been at the Moat, and she has had 
the society of the parson, from Orwell, she has recovered 
her former cheerfulness and courage, to a great extent. 
Certainly she is not the same woman I found her when I 
first came, and now that she is restored the parson and 
I think it will be well to make her independent of me, at 
least, for, much as I love the poor girl, I can’t live there for- 
ever. Norman, fearing to be disturbed in his precious 
studies, forbade her to make visits or receive them, but he 
made an exception in favor of the parson, and before 
leaving I induced him to extend the exception to you ; and 
I promised Edith that you would go and see her from time 
to time. Will you go ? ” 

“ Oh, with all my heart ! ” I cried, wiping the tears from 
my eyes with impatience, for they had not come in sym- 
pathy for poor Mrs. Norman, but in shame for my injustice 
to the generous man whose motives I ought to have known. 

With all my heart,” I repeated. 

“ Thank you, Doris,” he said, and he took up my hand, 
which lay upon the pea-shells, and pressed it. The time 
came for him to drop my hand, but he still held it, and 
leaning forward with one elbow on his knee,, he looked into 
my face with great fervor, and much more kindness than I 
deserved. 

I made a little effort to take it away, but his strong hand 
was not for mine to cope with, so I gave up the attempt 
and dropped my eyes, trying to keep the blushes out of my 
face. 


78 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ And you are going away to-night ? ” 1 asked, to break the 
silence. 

“ Yes ; my mother’s ill-health furnished me with an excuse 
to leave the Moat. I must go to her.” 

“ But you will come back some day,” I said, thinking how 
dull it would be when he was gone. 

“ That depends upon you,” said he, still speaking gravely, 
yet with a little pleasantry in his face. 

“ Upon me ?” said I. 

“ Yes ; if you want me to come back, I will come ; but if 
you were too busy shelling peas to care whether I came or 
not, it would be wiser to stay away for good.” 

“ Oh, I did not mean it,” I cried, obeying the impulse of 
my heart, without thinking of what I said ; and springing 
to my feet, I dashed the basin and peas to the right and 

left. “ I hate shelling peas ; and do you think ” And 

there I stopped. 

“ No,” said he, “ I do not think ill of you ; I don’t think you 
could put it in my power to think ill of you. I believe that 
the more I know of you, the more I shall find in your 
nature to admire and love ; and it is for that reason, Doris, 
that I dare ask you to be my wife.” 

When he said this my heart bounded with joy and pride 
— with joy in being loved by him, with pride in being found 
worthy of his love, despite my faults. He had wooed me 
as I wished to be wooed, in no abject fashion, but with a 
manly recognition of qualities in me and himself which 
would ensure the lasting happiness of our union. It may 
have been because I loved him that I found his method of 
making love so admirable ; but in truth I have always held 
in great contempt those heroes of romance who woo upon 
their knees with whining supplication for a tender considera- 
tion of their love-lorn condition, and with promises and vows 
impossible to keep; and equally I have despised those 
heroines who in their turn could vow to honor and obey 
such namby-pamby and insincere creatures. I cannot im- 
agine any real woman of feeling and sense loving a man 
who places himself in the position of a slave, for the only 
man to be respected and adored must be our equal, if he is 
not our master. 

He had conquered me, and now that he asked me to be 
his wife, there was the deepest tenderness in his voice, but 


FOUND GUILTY. 


79 


no weak trembling. It was I who trembled and needed 
support ; and when he said, “ I love you dearly, Doris,” I was 
constrained to bend forward, and he caught me in his arms. 
He held me against his breast, and kissed my forehead, until 
I raised my face to look into his, and then our lips met, and 
my heart overflowed with joy. 

“ I will be your wife, dear ; and I will do all that I can to 
make you love me always,” I said. 

“ With that wish in both our hearts, we may look forward 
to a happy life together, love,” he replied. 

Then we sat side by side on the seat where we had listened 
for the nightingale on the first day of our meeting, and we 
said nothing for some time, my happiness, at least, being 
unspeakable. And as if to impress upon my mind forever 
the unparalleled happiness of those moments, my senses noted 
all the surroundings. 

They were cutting the second crop of hay in the meadow, 
and the mowers were taking advantage of the cool evening, 
and now and then there came the pleasant sound as they 
whetted their scythes. There was a pure, sweet odor of new 
hay. The moon was already throwing a mottled shadow 
from the foliage of the apple-tree, though the tender flush of 
sunset still lingered over the hills, and all was quite still ; not 
a leaf stirred. Overhead there were midgets, and from time 
to time their droning hum was cut by the sharp, shrill cries 
of the swifts as they skimmed through the twilight. 


8o 


FOUND GUILTY. 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

‘ It was some time before I thought of Mrs. Bromley, only 
when my thoughts began to wander from the present to the 
future. 

“ Oh, your mamma, dear ! ” I cried, jumping up. 

“ You don’t think I intend to go before I have had it out 
with your guardian, do you ? ” he asked playfully. “ Why, I 
should never get a wink of sleep in the train with that 
terrible uncertainty in my mind as to his consent to our 
marriage. I have only your acquiescence at present.” 

I knew that was enough for him, and that the opposition 
of the whole world would make no difference in our relations, 
now that he had won my consent. The interview with my 
guardian was but an excuse to stay near me. 

“ Aren’t you going to-night ? ” I asked, happy to think our 
parting might be postponed. 

“ My mother is never visible before mid-day, and I shall 
be in town by that time if I catch the first train,” he replied ; 
“ so that if you don’t object ” 

I told him he was an old goose. 

“ In that case,” said he, “ I may as well discharge Peters 
with the gig.” 

We went up the garden slowly, I clinging to his arm, which 
I felt now belonged to me ; and when we reached the house 
he left me on the lawn and walked round to the front gate. 
And I watched him as he went, feeling I had a right now to 
admire his tall, fine figure, his erect bearing, and handsome 
profile ; and when he was out of sight, I covered my burning 
face with my hands, and couldn’t resist giving a little cry of 
joy to think of the full happiness of my lot. 

But I could not bear to stand there alone, so I ran to the 
side of the house and peeped through the shrubbery. 

Eliza was going in by the front door, looking rather abashed, 
with her finger in her mouth. She and the young man from 
the Moat were on very amiable terms, and I think Valentine 


FOUND GUILTY. 


8i 


had come upon them unseen. This young man was standing 
by the horse’s head. 

“ Hand out the things, Peters,” said Valentine. 

“ Which things, sir ? ” said Peters. 

“ All. I am not going to Barstow. You can return to the 
Moat. Put the traps inside.” 

“ There’s another train a little before twelve, sir ; shall I 
wait and take you on by that ? ” 

“No.” 

“ To-morrow morning, sir ? ” 

“ No.” 

Valentine put something in his hand, and Peters said, 
“ Thank you very kindly, sir ; ” and then, having put the lug- 
gage in the house, he got into the gig, touched his hat, and 
drove away. 

I met Valentine as he came from the gate, and he proposed 
that we should go along the road to meet my guardian and 
Miss Trevor. 

“ The air is not too cool for you ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh no, no ! ” I replied. “ I will put something over my 
head if you think I ought to.” 

“ Yes, I think you should,” he said with becoming gravity, 
for this was the first command he had ever given me. I 
hastened in to obey him who had taken my whole life into 
his keeping. 

I put a square of black lace over my head, and I was glad 
to find that it pleased him, and made me look handsome in 
his thinking. We did not talk seriously for some time ; but 
he said some little things about me, and about his love for 
me, which dilated my heart, and seemed to lift me off the 
earth into a fairy region. And just as fairy stories seem 
childish to all but childish ears, the talk of lovers must 
lose its charm to those who are not in love ; so I will not 
attempt to write down what passed between us then. But 
after a time we came down to matters of fact. 

“And now, darling,” said Valentine, “we will look practi- 
cally at our position, and settle about the future.” 

I assented readily, and he continued : 

“ To-morrow I shall see my mother, and tell her what has 
happened.” 

“ Do you think she will be pleased ? ” I asked, with a little 
trepidation. 


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FOUND GUILTY. 


“ She will not be my mother if she disapproves anything 
that I do/’ he replied. “ But it’s a good thing that you are 
beautiful and welbborn, or she would never have forgiven 
you for having bewitched her son. I suppose we shall start 
the next day for Scarborough, and there I think the professor 
must bring you to be introduced. After that there will be 
nothing to do until we are married, so that had better be 
pretty early. Don’t you think so .? When shall you be 
ready ? ” 

I looked down, and was glad that my black lace and the twi- 
light prevented him seeing my face. We were once again in 
fairyland, and nothing about me seemed material — except his 
arm. 

“ I don’t think we need have a very long engagement, do 
you ? ” he asked. 

I shook my head. 

“ Then when my mother feels strong enough to be left we 
will be married — that is, if the dressmaker has finished her 
part of the business. Will that suit you } ” 

I lifted my head, and offered him my cheek for reply. 

“That settles the question of the wedding,” said he, when 
we were again walking along. “ Now what comes next ? ” 

I shook my head, not knowing what was to come next. 

“ We must settle about our future home and manner of 
living,” said he. 

“You know, dear,” said I, “that I have no money now, 
nothing at all ; ” and for the first time I regretted the loss, 
thinking that a quarter of a million of money might have been 
useful to him. 

“ So much the better,” said he emphatically ; “ if you had 
a large fortune, one would feel compelled to go into society 
at once, and I hardly think you are prepared for that ? ” 

“ Society, dear .? ” said I questioningly. 

“ The society of London — people of wealth, position, in- 
telligence, fashion, and that sort of thing, you know.” 

“ I don’t think you like society,” said I, judging his feelings 
by the slightly contemptuous tone in which he spoke. 

“ I don’t think I do greatly — for long.” 

“ Then I am glad I am not prepared for it,” said I. 

“ Ah, but you will have to prepare for it. You will have 
to go through a severe course of training.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


83 

I listened, and was somewhat frightened, not thinking 
then that he was speaking in a vein of pleasantry. 

“ It may be very pleasant to be a caterpillar ; but if it is 
in the course of nature that the creature should develop into 
a butterfly, it would be simply absurd for that caterpillar to 
back out of the chrysalis stage, or in other words, dearest, if 
you have the possibility of becoming a princess it is not right 
to keep you in the condition of a peasant. That would be 
to cramp and compress faculties which should be expanded, 
and to limit your capabilities within unworthy confines. 
Admirably as your dear old guardian’s system may have 
applied to your childhood, it is too narrow and exclusive for 
your career as a woman and a wife. One of these days I 
shall be rich — a long time hence, I hope, for my fortune will 
come only with the death of my mother — still, sooner or 
later I shall be rich, and then — then we must live in a 
bigger house than we want, and have more servants than we 
need, and go out in a carriage when we would rather by half 
walk, and spend money on things we don’t want, and visit 
people we don’t care for, and receive visits from those who 
hate us, and go to balls when we would rather be at home, 
and give dinner-parties when the doctor tells us we ought to 
eat nothing but mutton-chops.’’ 

“ But does that kind of life consist in doing nothing but 
what is repugnant to our tastes ? ” I asked, frightened by the 
prospect he laid out. 

“ No, dear,” he said, in a more serious tone; “there is a 
good as well as a bad side to that kind of life, as there is to 
all others ; and I hope we shall find the good exceed the bad 
a thousand-fold.” 

“ And how am I to prepare ? ” 

“ Oh, that is much too far away, I hope, for present con- 
sideration. What we have now to think of is, what we shall 
do immediately after our marriage. With the small fortune 
I have just now, we could not live pleasantly or well in 
London.” 

I told him I should be quite content to live in the country 
with him. 

“And I with you, darling,” he replied ; “ but that does not 
quite agree with the progressive theory I have in my mind. 
It seems to me that nineteen years in the country is about 
long enough for a woman at one spell, and that she ought to 


84 


FOUND GUILTY. 


see something more of the world than hills and valleys, and 
something more of mankind than the honest shopkeepers of 
Lipley and Barstow, and the simple but stupid shepherds of 
these parts. Now, what do you think if we went about from 
place to place, seeing cities and people, and now and then 
making acquaintance with persons who would prepare us for 
our future life in London ? ” 

I thought that would be delightful, and I said so. 

“ Trains and hotels are expensive and unpleasant,” said 
he ; “ but if we had a yacht, and you found the sea agree- 
able, and weren’t afraid of shipwreck ” 

I told him I should have no fear with him. Indeed, I 
never had been a coward. 

And there our conversation ended, for just then I heard 
the chaise coming along, and was seized with a tremor of 
excitement at the surprise about to be given to my beloved 
guardian ; and I bade Valentine step with me under the 
cover of the hedge, that the surprise might be greater. 

The professor and Miss Trevor told me afterwards that 
they had never enjoyed a ride less. 

Seeing how silent he was. Miss Trevor attempted to get 
up a little conversation by observing that she felt sure, by 
the quantity of midges in the air, that it would be fine the 
next day ; whereupon the professor took unnecessary pains 
to convince her that she was talking nonsense about a 
thing that she did not understand, since midges cannot live 
without seeking food in the air, and that it was quite as likely 
to be fine as not, whether there were no midges to be seen 
or many, and this was a symptom of irritability so uncommon 
on his part that the poor old gentlewoman would not have 
dared to make another proposition had the heavens been full 
of midges. And so they finished their drive in lugubrious 
silence, and I never saw two more unhappy and doleful look- 
ing creatures in my life than they were as they passed by us. 
They must have thought me beside myself when I darted out 
from the hedge and put my arms round poor old Coquelicot’s 
neck and kissed him. Coquelicot seemed to understand 
what I wanted, and stopped at once. 

And then, going to the side of the chaise, laughing at my 
guardian’s wide-eyed astonishment, I held out my arms, and 
drawing down his head, I said softly in his ear ; 

“ He loves me, and I am to be his wife.” 


. FOUND GUILTY. 85 

The professor knew whom I meant, for Valentine, with 
more self-control than I had, was saluting Miss Trevor. 

“ Well, well, well ! ” he exclaimed ; and that was all he 
could say. And these words he repeated again and again as 
we walked on — I on one side of the chaise, and Valentine on 
the other — but with a variety of accent, so that I could tell 
what was the feeling in his dear old heart ; for first they were 
expressive only of surprise, then they were full of joyful satis- 
faction, and then of a sadness mingled with resignation, but 
again of satisfaction. 

When we got into the house he took me in his arms and 
embraced me, and pressed Valentine’s hand, telling us in 
broken phrases that he was glad. Then he went down into 
the wine-cellar, and I heard him blowing his nose as he went, 
and returned with two dirty bottles from a store of wine he 
had laid down upon coming to Faulcondale. He drew the 
cork with great care, and when the glasses were filled he said 
to Valentine : 

“ Now we will drink to your bride’s health.” 

And the wine soon chased away the feeling of sadness 
which touched my heart as well as my guardian’s at the 
thought of the parting which must come. 

When it grew late I bade Valentine good-night, and he 
went into the study of my guardian ; but I felt sure I should 
see him again, so I slipped out into the garden, and by the 
light of the moon gathered a bunch of roses, and took them 
up into my room. Then I put out the light, and sat by the 
open window, very happy and thankful to heaven. 

I could hear my guardian’s voice and sometimes Valentine’s 
in the study, the window there being open. My guardian 
was telling him the history of my father’s death, and the story 
of my fortune all over again. He thought fit to tell me of 
their conversation the next day ; but I remember nothing but 
that when he told Valentine of his belief that in time he 
should be able to get back all my fortune from “ X.,” Valentine 
replied : 

“ Whatever fortune you may have to give will be for Doris 
alone ; for me she is enough.” 

But at length the long talk ended, and then, just as I ex- 
pected, Valentine came out into the garden. 

“ Valentine ! ” I called softly. 

He looked up, and keeping my bunch of roses behind me, 


86 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I leant over the sill and smiled, looking down at him. And 
then the strangest thing happened : he went to the ve^ same 
rose-bush I had been to, and plucked some roses, which one 
could see quite plainly in the moonlight, and taking off his 
ring, he passed the stems through it, and threw them up to 
me. They fell close to my heart, and I thought that was a 
good omen. Then I threw down the buds I had gathered, 
and tied together with a lock of my hair, he caught them and 
kissed them again and again. 

We talked together in a low voice, so that Miss Trevor 
might not be disturbed, for a long while, I nestling my cheek 
against the cool flowers he had given me as a token of his 
love ; and if our talk was not as poetical as that of Romeo 
and Juliet, I am sure it came from hearts no less devoted 
than theirs. 

* * * # 

We rose early the next morning, and I took Valentine to 
the station at Barstow, where we parted, he promising to 
write from Scarborough, that we might know when to join 
him there. 

I went home, and as soon as Coquelicot was rested, I 
drove over to Beauchamp Moat. I saw Peters ; he said that 
Mrs. Norman was not at home, and he could not tell me 
where she was gone or when she would return. 

I waited some time, and then returned home, vexed with 
my failure to perform the service Valentine had asked of me. 

In the evening a messenger came from Barstow with a 
telegram from Valentine to me ; and I learnt that Mrs. Brom- 
ley’s condition was worse, and that it would be impossible 
for her to leave London at present. I returned a message of 
sympathy ; and that night seemed very sad after the joy of 
the evening before. 

The next morning I went once more to Beauchamp Moat, 
and once more I was told that Mrs. Norman was not at home. 
I left my card. Not to be defeated, I drove over again in 
the afternoon, but with no better success. 

It struck me that Mrs. Norman, perhaps, had been called 
to London by the critical state of Mrs. Bromley’s health. 

“ Has Mrs. Norman left home?” I asked of Peters. 

“ I can’t tell you, miss,” he replied ; “ my orders are to 
say to every visitor that my mistress is not at home.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


«7 

I returned home and wrote a letter to Mrs. Norman saying 
that I wished to see her, and asking when I should find her 
at home. This letter I sent by a boy from the farm, telling 
him to wait for an answer. He came back empty-handed. 

“ A young chap took the letter,” said he, “ kept me waiting 
outside five minutes, and then come and told me there wasn’t 
any answer.” 

What was I to do ? A letter from my dear Valentine told 
me that his mother was gravely ill, and unable to rise from 
her bed. He said nothing respecting Mrs. Norman. Loath 
to add to his trouble, I resolved to make another endeavor 
to see Mrs. Norman. 

As my chaise stopped before the gate, Peters came out, 
shaking his head before I spoke, and with an impudent smile, 
which seemed to reflect the contempt my perseverance may 
have provoked in his mistress. 

“ Not at home,” he said, without troubling himself to ap- 
proach the gate. 

“ Have you no message for me ? ” I asked. 

“ None,” he answered. 

“ Have you told Mrs. Norman that I have called fre- 
quently ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

This proved that Mrs. Norman had not left the Moat. 

“ Why did she refuse to see me ? ” I asked myself. 


CHAPTER X. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THE REV. DR. BULLEN. 

I SAW Mrs. Norman two days after the departure of Captain 
Bromley, and was vastly pleased to find her in reasonable 
spirits and hopeful, which was contrary to my expectations, 
for I had received that morning a letter from Captain Brom- 
ley telling me of his mother’s illness, and I thought that this 
news would have caused Mrs. Norman anxiety. But I soon 
found that she had not heard from her foster-brother, and 
thinking he had good reasons for keeping the news from her, 
I held my tongue on the matter. 

She was busy with her needle, and showed me the work 


88 


FOUND GUILTY. 


she had set herself to do, and which, she said, would occupy 
her well through the autumn, especially as she had resolved 
to devote her mornings to learning Italian ; and as this indi- 
cated a determination to make the best of her situation, I 
began to think that matters were not so bad as I had thought 
they were, especially as her dress and personal appearance 
betokened a good deal of care and attention. It was only 
when the interest excited by my arrival wore off, and she 
became absorbed in her own reflections, that an expression 
of trouble and anxiety came upon her face. 

To give a fresh turn to the conversation, I asked if Miss 
Howard had paid her a visit. Captain Bromley having in- 
formed me in his letter that she intended to do so. 

“Yes, she has called,” replied Mrs. Norman, with some 
agitation ; “ but I would not see her. Miss Howard is 
young, and there is nothing in my company to amuse her. 
Besides, I don’t think I should like her, and under those 
conditions it would be worse than useless to make an ac- 
quaintance.” 

“ I can’t agree with you there,” said I ; “it is true that 
Miss Howard is young, but so are you ; there can be but 
four years difference between you ; and young women can 
always find plenty to talk about, so far as my observation 
has gone. And as to the possibility of your not liking her, 
that would be the case in making acquaintance with anyone, 
and can only be proved by intercourse. It is not right for 
us to live without conversing with people of our own sex, and 
therefore I think you do wrong in rejecting Miss Howard’s 
offer of friendship.” 

“ There is another reason,” she said, glancing at the door, 
and dropping her voice ; “ my husband objects to the ac- 
quaintance.” 

“ There again I think you are in error, for Captain Brom- 
ley tells me he obtained Dr. Norman’s consent to it.” 

“ That may be, but I am sure it was against his inclination ; 
and in according with his wishes in this trifling affair I know 
I have pleased him, and that is my great desire.” 

I could say nothing after that. It was my duty to pro- 
mote a good understanding between husband and wife, and 
not to set them at loggerheads. Indeed, I could only applaud 
the self-sacrifice of the young wife, while my contempt grew 


FOUND GUILTY. 89 

Stronger for the husband who could avail himself of her 
abnegation.” 

I fancied there must be more in this than appeared on the 
surface, and it seemed to me not impossible that before long 
Mrs. Norman would shut her door against me to win the 
approval of her husband. 

As if to disprove this suspicion, Dr. Norman presently en- 
tered the room, and having introduced himself in an easy, 
gentlemanly fashion, he set himself to be agreeable to me. 
His appearance and manner upset all my preconceived ideas, 
and made me feel, I admit, somewhat ashamed of the prej- 
udice I had taken against him. He looked like a young 
gentleman fresh from a university — a student, but without the 
stern, strenuous expression of one who has encountered the 
hardships and difficulties of a student’s career after leaving 
his college. Still less could I discern in his face any sign of 
that designing and crafty nature with which Captain Bromley 
and I had mentally endowed him. 

He talked pleasantly upon a variety of subjects, and once 
or twice addressed his remarks to Mrs. Norman, which was 
altogether at variance with Captain Bromley’s statement of 
his habitude — and when I left the house he walked a hundred 
yards beyond the gate with me. 

“ I am glad to see your wife looking well,” said I. 

He shrugged his shoulders, and shaking his head gravel}'’, 
said, “ It is one of the most difficult cases I have had to deal 
with.” 

“ Why, what do you think ails her ? ” I asked. 

“ Her disease has yet to be named,” he replied ; it arises 
from the undue gratification of an abnormal craving for ex- 
citement; it may lead to anything, from hypochondria to 
absolute insanity. Her condition requires complete mental 
repose, and even that is attended with danger. We have to 
steer between a Scylla of melancholia and a Charybdis of 
frenzy, and a difficult undertaking it is. I hoped at one time 
to effect a cure by removing all predisposing causes to excite- 
ment — as the germs of other diseases are killed, and killed 
only by their absolute starvation, and I am not yet convinced 
that I did right in abandoning that treatment.” 

I was partly astonished with this logical explanation, but 
after looking at it carefully this way and that, I was not per- 
fectly convinced. 


90 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Surely, sir,” said I, “there can be found a happy mean — 
something between indulging this unhappy lady in dan- 
gerous excitement, and an absolute seclusion from human 
society?”. 

“ The difficulty is to define what is dangerous excitement. 
Half measures are always perilous. You see the result of her 
brother’s visit ; at first it was undoubtedly good, but in the 
end ” 

He stopped short, looking at me significantly, and then 
shrugged his shoulders ; evidently he had anticipated the same 
result that had frightened me. 

This was a delicate subject on which to talk to a young 
husband, but I ventured to suggest that something was due to 
an over-sudden transition from one state to another, and that 
better results might attend a gradual process. 

“ We will hope so,” said he shaking my hand, and then we 
parted. 

I could not tell what to make of this ; but one thing was 
evident, either I had done him a great injustice, or he took 
me for a fool. 

I suffered a week to elapse before going again to the Moat. 
There was a noticeable change in Mrs. Norman’s appearance. 
She was thinner and paler; a careworn, faded expression 
overcast her face ; there was that irresolution in her move- 
ment which arises from fear. She spoke nervously and with 
constraint, starting at every sound. At first I attributed these 
symptoms to her dread of a storm, for the afternoon w^as 
particularly close and heavy, with faint rumbling of distant 
thunder. But she assured me she was not afraid of light- 
ning ; and I shortly discovered that she was actually ill, for 
the timepiece striking four, she went to a side-table where 
there stood a wineglass and a tinfoil covered phial, and said 
it was time for her dose. 

“ You are taking physic ? ” said I, in a tone of inquiry. 

“ Yes,” she answered with a trembling voice ; “ my nerves 
are out of order, and Norman has prescribed this, which he 
says is a sedative.” 

She looked at the glass into which she had poured the drug, 
and, standing in the middle of the room, glanced towards the 
door at the upper end and then at the lower one. The fixity 
of her regard, her pallor, the trembling of the glass in her 
hand, terrified me. She stepped towards me, and dropping 


folTnd guilty. 


91 

her voice almost to a whisper, said ; “ Do you understand 
medicine, Dr. Bullen } ” 

“ Not much, indeed,’’ said I, with truth, for I have never 
to my knowledge taken above two doses of physic in my life. 
But I took the glass from her hands and put it to my lips. 

There was not even the flavor of peppermint with \/hich 
chemists disguise the unpleasantness of drugs ; it had no 
taste at all that I could discover. 

While I was making this examination she kept her eyes 
fixed first on one door, then on the other, and her hand raised 
to take the glass. 

“ That can do you no harm, my dear,” said I, “ and I hope 
it will do you much good.” 

I spoke in accordance with my conviction, for the medicine 
seemed to me to be nothing but pure water. 

Recollecting what Dr. Norman had said about his wife’s 
tendency to hypochondria, it occurred to me that possibly 
she entertained a fear that she was ill, and that he had given 
her this harmless stuff to reassure her. But if that were his 
intention, he showed the strangest forgetfulness of his pur- 
pose, as the incident I am about to relate will show. 

About five o’clock it came on to rain pretty smartly, and, 
hoping it would give over in an hour, I said I would stay to 
take a cup of tea with Mrs. Norman if it were agreeable to her. 
When the tea was served Dr. Norman came from his study, 
and, finding me .seated there with his wife, greeted me very 
cordially and said he was glad to see me. He took his wife’s 
hand and put his fingers on her pulse as he was talking, and 
shortly after I heard him ask her in a low tone if she had 
taken her medicine. We sat some time at the tea-table, and 
then, the rain coming down more steadily than ever, he 
said : 

“ Ah, Dr. Bullen, you will be kept here a prisoner ; it has 
settled down for a good soaking night.” 

And then he asked his wife if Valentine’s room was in 
order. She replied in the affirmative, and I readily agreed 
to stay there the night, not wishing to forego the oppor- 
tunity of making myself agreeable to Dr. Norman. When 
it grew dark the lamp was lit, and Dr. Norman asked if I 
should like to play a game of cards. To this also I agreed ; 
and a small table being set, he brought out a pack of cards, 
and we sat down to play a game of dearth. 


92 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I had no wish to win his money, but the luck was with 
me, so that I won despite his better play, which I thought 
irritated him — as a run of ill-luck sometimes will irritate 
the best of players. So after a while we fell to conversing 
between the deals, and our talk turning upon the medical 
profession, I said : 

“ By the way, sir, may I ask what branch of science it is 
you are studying ! 

He was looking at the cards he slowly shuffled ; Mrs. 
Norman was seated by the large table working, and just a 
little way apart from us. Leaning back in my chair as I 
asked this question, my eyes fell upon the glass over the 
chimney, which, being slightly inclined, reflected Mrs. 
Norman sitting under the strong light of the hanging lamp. 
She had ceased to work. I saw the embroidery tremble in 
her hands. Her white face was turned towards her husband, 
and her eyes were fixed upon him. 

“ I am studing toxicology,” replied Dr. Norman quietly, 
as he manipulated the cards. 

The announcement produced an unpleasant impression 
upon my mind. It was a revelation to his wife, seemingly. 
I saw her start and her eyebrows contract as she caught the 
word. 

“ And I believe,” pursued the careless husband, still slowly 
shuffling the cards, and regarding them with half-dosed 
eyes, as if mentally following some deep. speculation — “I 
believe I have found out the secret of the Aqua Tofana.” 

“ And what on earth may that be ? ” I asked. 

“Aqua Tofana!” he exclaimed, looking up in surprise; 
“ I thought all the world knew about that. It was a deadly 
poison employed pretty extensively in Italy in the seven- 
teenth century, and named after the woman, Tofania, who 
made and sold it, and a very good trade she did in it. She 
confessed to being party to the murder of six hundred 
persons. It seems to have been employed almost exclu- 
sively by women ” — he pressed his glasses a little closer to 
his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and looking up at 
me, he added, “ by women who were tired of their husbands, 
and wanted to get rid of them.” 

There seemed to be a meaning in the impressiveness with 
which he spoke, and in the look which accompanied his 
words, which I was at a loss to understand. He dropped 


FOUND GUILTY. 


93 


his eyes again, and once more shuffled the cards with an air 
of abstraction. I glanced at the mirror. The embroidery 
had dropped from Mrs. Norman’s hands, but still she 
regarded her husband. 

“ The woman,” continued Dr. Norman, “escaped suspicion 
for a long time — the action of her poison being extremely 
slow, and unattended by violent suffering. When she was 
discovered all Italy was in a ferment. Numbers of women 
fled for their lives, and many in high position were convicted, 
and probably strangled in prison. A proclamation of the 
'"Pope described the poison as aqua fortis distilled into ar- 
senic : some chemists considered it a solution of crystallized 
arsenic ; for my own part, I don’t believe there was a grain 
of arsenic in the whole brew.” 

He laid down the cards, and from his waistcoat-pocket 
drew a small flat glass phial, which he put into my hand. It 
was half full of liquid. 

“ That,” said he, “ is one of the very bottles used by Ma- 
dame Tofania. It was given to me as a curiosity, and first 
directed my attention to the subject. The liquid it contains 
is perfectly colorless, as you see, and as like distilled water 
as may be. I believe it is identical with the celebrated poi- 
son that flask once held. Four drops of that would kill you ; 
and I doubt if the closest post-mortem examination would 
reveal the true cause of death.” 

“ Of course,” said I, returning the phial with pretended 
indifference — “ of course one must learn how to kill, that we 
may know how to cure, and the only way of learning how to 
make an antidote is to find out what a poison is composed of.” 

Then I squared myself to the table, and we played again, 
and to my great comfort I lost all the money I had won from 
Dr. Norman. 

But all the while my thoughts were running on that oc- 
cursed Aqua Tofana., and yet I wished to divert my thoughts 
from it, for I could not but remember the drug which Mrs. 
Norman took with such hesitation, and the fears respecting 
it which she had betrayed ; and in associating the facts, a 
suspicion seized my mind which it was shameful to harbor 
at the same time that I professed friendly feelings for Dr. 
Norman. I was heartily glad when the time came to go to 
bed, though never in my life was I less inclined to sleep, or 
more dissatisfied with my lodgings. 


94 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Yet what,” thought I, “ is the transient discomfort I bear 
compared with the awful terrors which night after night this 
unhappy young wife must endure ? ” 

My bed-chamber was hot and close. I put open the win- 
dow and looked out. 

The rain had given over ; but despite the past heavy down- 
pour, the air was still thick and heavy. Dense clouds cov- 
ered the sky, so that for some time I looked out of my win- 
dow without being able to determine in what part of the house 
I was situated ; but at length, my eyes being accustomed to 
the obscurity, I made out the irregular outline of a roof be- 
fore me, which I concluded must be the ivy-covered wing, 
and then knew that the black gulf into which I had been 
looking was the courtyard. Presently a flicker of light over 
the heavens revealed the whole quadrangle. 

I heard the “ drip, drip, drip” of water falling at intervals 
from the gable, and then the sullen growl of thunder far away 
amidst the hills. 

A door closed below, and a minute or so later a light shone 
through the window at the further end of the wing abutting 
upon the laboratory. 

Some time after this the door closed again, and a second 
light appeared in the wing through an opened window near 
mine. A fit of coughing told me that Mrs. Norman was in 
the nearer room, and as no word was spoken I concluded 
that the doctor occupied the further one. Was it part of the 
treatment required by her malady that her isolation should 
extend to this degree ? — that she should be left alone night 
and day to brood over her misfortunes and conceive terrors 
which even my healthier mind could not exclude ? 

“ Heaven have mercy upon her ! ” I said, turning from 
the window. 

I took off my shoes ; but got no farther, for the trouble in 
my mind ; and I sat down on the edge of my bed, casting 
about me for some means to rescue this young woman from 
a position the like of which had never before come into my 
calculations. For though in my parish there are frequently 
cases of distress and sore anxiety, yet have they all been sus- 
ceptible of alleviation by patient care and help. But this 
was one in which I was powerless to aid. “ Whom God hath 
joined together shall no man put asunder,” saith the Scripture, 
and common-sense told me I could not do that if I wished. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


95 


And how could I help the wife ? Not by setting myself 
against her husband : the only comfort I could give was to 
strengthen her faith in him, and make the best of things, and 
that I could only do by ingratiating myself with him ; for if 
he thought that I was upsetting his plans, there would soon 
be an end to my visits, I feared. As to the possibility of 
modifying his treatment, that was altogether out of the ques- 
tion ; for a man of science, with the conceit natural to young 
men, would scorn to accept the advice of a simple country 
parson in preference to his own doctrines, and might take 
offence at the mere suggestion of it. 

I was still speculating in this manner, when a cry like that 
of a child in acute pain struck upon my ear. 

I sprang to my feet and went to the window. There was 
no longer light in the room near mine, and I was not sure that 
there was light in the room beyond, but suddenly a glimmer 
of green light came through the blinds of the tall windows 
in the laboratory. 

The cry, which sounded as if in a distant part of the house, 
must have come from there. Had Mrs. Norman, to satisfy 
some secret dread, penetrated into that mysterious chamber 
where her husband passed his days, and had her fears been 
realized ? Did the sudden appearance of light there indicate 
the appearance of Dr. Norman, alarmed as I had been by 
that cry of anguish ? 

As these questions rushed into my mind, my ears were 
pierced again by that shrill distant scream. 

Without hesitating a moment, I caught up my candlestick, 
made my way through the passage, down the stairs, and thence 
along a stone-paved passage, in the direction of the -north 
wing. I came at length to an old door beneath which a 
wedge of light was visible. A large rusty ring hung in the 
place of a handle. I turned it, raising a latch within, but 
without opening the door. 

“Who is there?” called Dr. Norman, from within. 

“ I — Bullen ; let me in ! ” I answered. 

There was a moment’s silence, and then a catch was drawn, 
the door opened, and the light of my candle fell on Dr. 
Norman’s face. It fell also on mine, which, I suppose, 
showed great perturbation ; for he seemed amused as he 
looked at me, and burst into a laugh when I told him of the 
cry I had heard, and asked him to explain it. 


96 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Have you never before heard the squeal of a rabbit ? 
he asked. 

I must have looked incredulous, for, raising his arm, he 
showed a rabbit which he held by its ears, and then said : 

“ Come in, 1 will convince you.” He closed the door be- 
hind me, and throwing the dead rabbit on a bench, added ; 
“ I gave this fellow until noon to-morrow to live, but he has 
succumbed before his time.” 

I looked about me. 

There was a powerful argand reading-lamp with a shade 
upon the table that threw a strong circle of light, beyond 
which all was vague and indistinct. 

The light of my candle was scarcely sufficient to reveal the 
black roof-timbers. 

A microscope stood on the table in the light of the lamp, 
an open case of dissecting instruments, and a square case 
with the sign given to the planet Mars figured on the side. 

“ You have a light — come up here,” said Dr. Norman, and 
he led the way past the table towards that end of the apart- 
ment farthest from the door. My light was reflected by a 
glass retort and some bottles, but all else was lost. The 
blackness seemed to absorb the rays of light, giving me a 
strange impression of vastness and mysterious uncertainty. 
Presently my light fell upon the new woodwork of a row of 
hutches standing on a bench. 

“ These are my subjects,” said Dr. Norman, coming to a 
stand before the cages ; “ now you shall see.” 

He took the light out of my hand and opened a door. A 
rabbit within craned forward towards the light, which the 
doctor gradually drew nearer to his face ; suddenly the creat- 
ure, seized with panic, scuttled round and round the hutch, 
and then, backing into a corner, gave a scream such as that 
I had heard. 

I doubt not that my senses, quickened by nervous agita- 
tion, had intensified the cry, coming in the stillness of the 
night ; but even as I stood close to the animal I was struck 
by the wonderful resemblance of its scream to a human 
voice. 

“Is the poor wretch dying? ” I asked, as I shut the door 
to end its terror. 

“Yes ; but he has three weeks to live,” replied he. 

“ He is poisoned ? ” I asked. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


97 

“ Oh, they are all poisoned,” answered the doctor care- 
lessly, “ and the curious thing about it is — they know it 

I started. 

“ The unerring instinct of animals,” he continued, “ is a 
mystery that has yet to be explained. Take the light and 
open that door, the larger cage.” 

I opened the door and looked in. A dog was lying on 
some straw, his muzzle resting on his two front paws. He 
blinked up at me, as the light fell upon him, but without 
moving. 

I patted his head, saying a few words of kindness to the 
poor creature. 

He crept forward in response and licked my hand, beat- 
ing the straw with his tail. At that moment Dr. Norman 
approached, and brought his face within a foot of the candle ; 
instantly the wretched animal, with a plaintive whine, turned 
over on his back, with his paws up, and quivering with dread. 

“ They all know me, you see,” said the doctor, in a cheer- 
ful tone of conviction. “ This brute has only had three doses, 
yet he knows he must die. It is positively wonderful.” 

“ It is horrible,” said I, turning away, sick with pity. 

“Now there is another mongrel here who had his first 
dose yesterday,” said he ; “ we will see ” 

“ No, no,” said I, lifting my hands ; “ I have seen too 
much. 

The doctor laughed. 

“ Science would make but little progress,” said he, “ were 
we all as squeamish as you, my dear sir.” 

“ Well,” said I, “ I should be glad to know how science 
has gained by the infliction of so much suffering. What have 
you discovered besides the art of killing ? ” 

“ The art of curing,” he replied. “ Stay here a moment.” 

Taking the light, he left me standing in the dark by the 
hutches, and went to a shelf, from which he took a bottle and 
a test-tube. With these in his hands he returned to me. 

“ Here it is,” said he, holding up the bottle. 

I took the light, and he measured out a few degrees in the 
tube, speaking the while. 

“ This is a perfectly harmless mixture in itself, having no 
effect upon the digestive organs ; but in combination with an 
infinitesimal quantity of the Aqua Tofana it produces a power- 
ful emetic. So that not only does it detect the presence of 

7 


FOUND GUILTY. 


98 

the poison, but it serves to get rid of the poison at the same 
time.” 

Having measured the antidote and corked the bottle, he 
asked me to hold them. I took the bottle, but the light be- 
ing in my other hand, I was at a loss how to hold the test- 
tube, until I bethought me of slipping the bottle in the breast- 
pocket of my coat, which left my hand at liberty for the tube. 

The doctor now opened a cage, seized a rabbit by the ears, 
and proceeded to make an experiment, which in its immediate 
result proved that the animal had been poisoned. 

“This is a fellow that was timed to die to-morrow,” said 
he, as he put the rabbit back in the cage, “ but you will find 
him alive next week.” 

He wished to make another demonstration, but I assured 
him I had seen enough, and turned my back on the cages and 
their wretched inmates. 

“ I shall do an hour’s work now I am here,” said he, taking 
up the dead rabbit from the bench when he got to the door. 
“ Can you find your way back 1 ” 

I said I could, and nodded good-night to him. It was 
absurd to hate the man simply because he had grown callous 
to suffering in his ^tudy of death ; yet I felt that, had he 
offered me his hand, I could not have taken it in mine at that 
moment. 

Looking down into the dark extremity of the room as I 
closed the door, I fancied I saw the light reflected in the 
eyes of those caged animals, and I pictured them watching 
the doctor through the bars of their prison, as he sat at the 
table in the light of the lamp dissecting his victim. 

It was long before I fell asleep, and even when I lost con- 
sciousness of external things, the eyes of the suffering crea- 
tures seemed to look at me ; and among them were Mrs. 
Norman’s eyes with the self-same look of terror and forebod- 
ing. And the words of Dr. Norman repeated themselves in 
my memory : “ They are all poisoned ; and the strange part 
about it is — they know 

* * # # * 

It was not until I got home the next day, and was in the 
act of changing my coat, that I discovered in my breast-pocket 
the bottle containing the antidote which Dr. Norman had put 
into my hands, and which I had forgotten to return. I de- 
termined to use it as a pretext for going to the Moat the next 


FOUND GUILTY. 


99 


day. But accidents occurred which prevented me carrying 
out my design before Saturday, which left an interval of three 
days between the visits. 

I found Mrs. Norman alone. Her condition was alarm- 
ing. She was wan and emaciated to a degree that I could 
not have believed possible of being produced in so short a 
space of time. There was still an attempt at coquetry in 
her dress, but this only made the terrible anxiety in her 
face more apparent — as living flowers about a statue inten- 
sify its lifelessness. There were deep purple lines under her 
eyes ; she could not rest still for two moments ; her speech 
was incoherent, her eyes wandered ; feverish restlessness 
seemed already to indicate the insanity which her husband 
had predicted. She demonstrated hysterical joy on seeing 
me ; and when this subsided, and reaction took place, she 
burst into tears, which she did not attempt to explain. After 
a little while she grew more composed, and I asked after 
Norman. She told me he had left the house half an hour 
before to go to London. I said what I could in his favor, 
and she listened to me with eager attention. When I came 
to an end, she said, clasping her hands : 

“ Heaven forgive me if I have misjudged him ! ” 

She hesitated a few moments, and then, as if under a des- 
perate impulse, she asked me in a trembling voice if I thought 
such a man could poison his wife. 

“ It is very improbable,” said I ; “ for though he may be 
wanting in tender feeling, he has intellect and sound sense, 
and for his own sake would not attempt a crime which must 
surely be traced home to him, and result in his ruin.” 

“ I have said the same thing to myself,” she said, “ and 
yet I cannot overcome the terrible suspicion. Until the 
other night I could never discover what study he was en- 
gaged in — I knew nothing of the terrible poison he spoke of 
— yet I believed that he was slowly poisoning me. Look at 
this drug ” — she took up the little tinfoil-covered phial and 
poured some in a glass, “ is it not like the Aqua Tofana he 
showed us ” 

“ Have you taken much of this ? ” I asked. 

“ I have taken none since you were here — none to my 
knowledge. But what of that ? ” — she drew near and caught 
hold of my arm ; “ he knows I have not taken it, though I 
lied and said I had ; he knows by my pulse. And yesterday. 


lOO 


FOUND GUILTY. 


as I stood in the corridor, I saw him in the kitchen pouring 
something from a bottle into the water I was to drink at 
dinner.” 

“ What sort of bottle was that ” I asked, after some re- 
flection. 

“ A square one.” 

“ Did you notice any mark upon it } ” 

“ Yes, I noticed a figure upon it like this.” Taking a pen- 
cil she drew on a piece of paper this sign — 4>. 

I remembered at once the bottle I had seen standing on 
the table beside the dissecting instruments. 

I thought for some minutes, and then, recollecting the bot- 
tle in my pocket, which I had brought with me, I said : 

“ If I can get into the laboratory, I will settle this question 
once for all.” 

I left her and went to the laboratory ; the door was unlocked. 
Upon the table stood the square bottle. 

I got a couple of test-tubes, and one I half filled with the 
antidote ; into the other I poured a small quantity of the 
liquid contained in the square bottle. He had told me that 
four drops of the Aqtia Tofana would be enough to kill me : 
here was a good half dozen of the liquid from the square 
bottle, and as clear and liquid as water. 

I sat down in a chair, and looked at the two glasses for 
a moment with a strange confusion of thought, and then, 
with a little prayer to the Almighty for mercy, and the for- 
giveness of all my shortcomings, I picked up the doubtful 
potion and drained it off ; and not giving it too long to take 
' effect, I then drained off with greater gusto the antidote. I 
waited patiently for five minutes, and then, feeling no more 
effect than if the drugs had been small ale, I returned to the 
sitting-room with heartfelt gratitude, to give Mrs. Norman 
this proof of her husband’s innocence. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


lOI 


CHAPTER XL 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

The cruel blows from which I have suffered in the course 
of twenty years’ struggling with adversity — not forgetting that 
which broke three of my ribs, and put an end to my career 
as a horse-rider — were all as nothing compared with that in 
store for me. At the very nioment of congratulating myself 
on having won the prize I had risked so much to gain, I dis- 
covered that I had got nothing but a blank. 

On examining the envelope I found that it was empty. It 
was a square envelope of thick paper, and had been cut along 
its length carefully, and the contents taken out. 

What was the meaning of this ? I asked myself, when I got 
over the confusion of thought into which this discovery had 
thrown me. 

It was most unlikely that Captain Bromley would keep the 
envelope in one place and the enclosure in another, which 
was simply to expose himself doubly to the risk of discovery, 
and to no purpose. While the two were together there was no 
more risk in keeping both than in keeping one, and it would 
have been useless to destroy the envelope which would iden- 
tify the enclosure. But if the enclosure were more portable 
and easy of concealment without the envelope, then why 
should the latter, which might have been destroyed by simply 
burning it with a match, be carelessly kept, when its dis- 
covery would betray the theft? This showed a want of 
cunning and caution altogether contrary to the nature of 
Captain Bromley. 

From these considerations I could draw but one conclusion, 
that the envelope and letter were both in that pocket ; that I 
had taken one and left the other. I had been hurried and 
nervous in those last moments in Captain Bromley’s bed- 
room. 

I remembered how excitement seemed to paralyze my fin- 
gers when they came upon the letter in the lining of the bag, 


102 


FOUND GUILTY. 


and with what difficulty I had clasped the paper between my 
trembling second and third fingers. I had left the important 
part in the bag : my fortune had literally slipped through my 
fingers ! 

It was something, however, that Captain Bromley had not 
recognized me. When I met him in the morning, there was 
nothing in his manner to show that he even suspected me. 
Dr. Norman said not a word to me concerning the occurrence, 
though there was nothing surprising in that, as Captain 
Bromley would not be likely to talk about the matter, or set afoot 
an inquiry which would show him up as the greater thief of 
the two. But it struck me that possibly he was unconscious 
of my attempt, and with this last hope I resolved to run one 
more risk. 

Furnished with a piece of wire, I made my way up to his 
room while Captain Bromley was at breakfast and the girl was 
busy in the kitchen — the dining-room and kitchen, as I have 
shown, were on the south side of the gallery — and taking the 
Gladstone bag on my knees, picked the lock in a couple of 
minutes. There was the slit in the back of the pocket, but 
not a vestige of paper where I had found the letter, or else- 
where. I closed the bag, and went back to the laboratory 
completely disheartened, and cursing my clumsiness, by which 
I had ruined one of the finest chances ever young: man 
had. 

However, my despondency wore off in the course of the 
morning, and I regained my confidence, arguing that I was at 
any rate more advanced now than when I began, and that 
it needed c^ly patience, perseverance, and a little more care 
to obtain the other part of the letter. 

“ Only give me time,” said I to myself. But that was ex- 
actly the thing Mr. Bromley would be not likely to give me. 
The knowledge that he was suspected would urge him on to 
marry Miss Howard. 

That marriage must be opposed, and at once. 

I set to work, and on a sheet of tissue-paper, cut exactly to 
the size of the envelope, I carefully traced the words written 
by Mr. Howard on the envelope. This paper I enclosed in 
a letter to Miss Howard, in which I told her nothing but the 
plain truth in warning her against accepting the offer of 
Captain Bromley. In the afternoon I got permission from Dr. 
Norman to go over to Lipley on the pretence that I wished to 


FOUND GUILTY. 


03 


buy a new hat. I did not go near Lipley. I went to Faul- 
condale, where, watching my opportunity, I laid my letter in 
the road, just as my young friend Eliza was about to come 
out, and skipping round the corner of the garden hedge, I had 
the pleasure of seeing her pick it up, and take it round to the 
back of the house, where the family were taking tea. I just 
waited long enough to see through a convenient hole in the 
hedge that my letter had taken effect, and then off I went to 
the Moat, saying to myself that I had now certainly done 
Captain Bromley’s business. And there I underrated the 
skill of my adversary. 

The moment I got home I was told to get the gig ready ; 
then I was sent to fetch Captain Bromley’s luggage and put 
it in the trap. This alarmed me ; and my alarm increased 
when he got up in the gig, and I was told to drive to Barstow. 
What was the reason for his sudden departure I could not 
make out, unless, frightened by the loss of the envelope, he 
felt it necessary to put the enclosure in a safer place. But 
the consequences of this move on his part were grave enough 
to me. It upsets entirely all the plans I had loecn making 
during the day for another attempt to get the precious paper 
before his departure ; and in all probability it would put an 
end to my employment at the Moat, for Dr. Norman would 
no longer require a spy to watch his wife, and for that pur- 
pose — and for that purpose alone — I was convinced he had 
engaged me. “ And now,” thought I, “ in about a fortnight 
or so, I shall be without means of subsistence, and further 
than ever from my project.” One thing I determined to do 
before we got to Barstow, and that was to throw suspicion 
upon Dr. Norman, and try if I couldn’t induce Captain 
Bromley to take me as his servant. But this was a day full 
of disappointments. 

“ Stop at that house,” said Captain Bromley, as, passing 
through Faulcondale, we came in sight of Mr. Schlobach’s. 

I saw at once that he had resolved to make a bold stroke, 
and I thanked my lucky stars that I had been beforehand with 
him there. “ You won’t stay there long,” said I to myself, 
as he jumped down and went into the garden by the front 
gate. Eliza met him, and took him round the house into 
the back garden. I gave him at the outside five minutes to 
get his dismissal ; but ten minutes passed, and he not return- 
ing, I began to get anxious. 


104 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Eliza came out with a grin all over her face, and after I had 
paid her a few attentions, I asked what was going on in the 
garden. 

“ There’s only Captain Bromley and Miss Howard there,” 
she replied, “ and they’re a shelling peas together.” 

“ A-shelling peas ! ” I exclaimed. “ You don’t tell me 
that a real gentleman like Captain Bromley is a-shelling 
peas ! ” 

“ Yes, he is,” she replied, “ like a good un.” 

“ Eliza, my beauty,” said I, fishing a sixpence out of my 
pocket, “ do you see this sixpenny piece ? — well, it’s a lucky 
one.” 

“ There ain’t never a hole in it,” she said doubtfully. 

“ But there’s going to be a hole in it,” said I, “ and you 
shall have it for a keepsake, if so be you’re telling the truth 
about Captain Bromley and your young missus.” 

“ Well, go down by the side of the hedge and peep through 
at the bottom of the garden, and see for yourself,” said she. 

“ Hold the horse’s head, then,” said I, “ and I’ll go and have 
a look, just to oblige you.” 

And so, leaving the simple girl with the bridle in her hand, 
I slipped down to the bottom of the garden on the outside 
of the hedge, and there to my astonishment I saw Captain 
Bromley holding Miss Howard in his arms, and no objection 
shown on her part. 

I watched long enough to be sure that there was no mis- 
take about it, and then I went back to the gig in a state of 
dejection impossible to describe. 

When Eliza asked for her lucky sixpence I told her I in- 
tended to make a hole in it ; and I kept my promise after a 
fashion, for I bought a pint of ale out of it on my way home 
to cheer up my spirits. 

But my misfortunes did not end there ; for before long 
Captain Bromley came out and told me I could go back to the 
Moat, as he did not intend to go on to Barstow. So I had 
no chance of hinting that he had been robbed of the letter 
by my master, or of trying to get into his service. Every- 
thing was against me ; even the ale I bought on my way 
home did not agree with me. 

And now, when I came to weigh everything up, I found I 
was not so clever as I should have been, and that I might as 
well try something else as attempt any further to get the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


05 


Stolen letter. I had done my best to save Miss Howard ; 
she wouldn’t accept my warning, and I was willing she should 
abide by the consequences. 

I fully expected to get a week’s warning on Saturday, but 
the only remark Dr. Norman made me when he paid me was 
that I must try and make myself useful, as there was hardly 
enough work in the laboratory to keep me employed ; he 
asked if I thought I was carpenter enough to put up a partition 
so as to divide the laboratory into two compartments. I 
had shown some skill in making a set of hutches for the 
animals he was experimenting on ; and when anxious to keep 
my place until I could find a better, I told him I could do 
it if I only had the tools and materials, he told me to make 
out a list of what I wanted and let him see it. 

I set about this at once ; measured the place, made the cal- 
culations as low as I could, knowing he was not the man to 
spend much even upon what was necessary, and gave him the 
list. He looked over it, struck out a few items, and sent me 
over with a cart to Lipley to get the things. 

He said I could use one of the old lumber-rooms as a work- 
shop, and here I stacked my boards and quartering, and hav- 
ing rigged up a bench, set to work planing and squaring the 
wood. That he might have no reason to complain, I knocked 
up a bin in one of the rooms, where I put all my shavings 
and chips, pointing out to him that they would be useful for 
lighting fires when the cold weather came. 

But though this job occupied my thoughts a good deal, I 
couldn’t help thinking of the chance I had lost ; and it was 
such a pleasure to dwell on what might have been, that the 
subject got hold of me like a passion, and gradually from 
dwelling on what might have been, I came again to speculate 
on what might be. I kept my eyes open, and took notes of 
all that was passing. 

First of all, having a bad shilling which was not good 
enough to pass, I bored a hole in it and took it over to Eliza 
as a present, and taking advantage of the girl’s responsive- 
ness, I gathered that Captian Bromley was going to marry 
Miss Howard, but that the wedding was put off because Mrs. 
Bromley had been taken ill. I also learnt from her that he 
had not been at Faulcondale since the day after he left Beau- 
champ Moat, but that he wrote repeatedly to Miss Howard. 

The next thing I observed was that, although Captain Brom- 


io6 


FOUND GUILTY. 


ley was no longer in the house, Dr. Norman continued to be 
jealous of his wife. No letters came to the house or went 
out of it without passing through his hands ; I believe he 
secured more than one that did not belong to him. I am 
sure that Mrs. Norman got none, and that none from her was 
given to the postman. 

That she was jealous of Miss Howard was as clear as day, 
for over and over again that young lady called at the Moat, 
and every time I was instructed to tell her that Mrs. Norman 
was not at home ; and I own it gave me some pleasure to 
notice her mortification at the constant denial. 

But that which gave me greater satisfaction and inspired 
me with new hope was the astonishing change in Mrs. Nor- 
man. I never saw a woman alter so quickly in all my life. 
From being a bright, pretty-looking young lady she seemed 
suddenly to become old, plain, and dull. 

I can bear witness that Dr. Norman never spoke an angry 
word to her ; but I must admit that he was as awful a man to 
live with as it is possible to imagine. 

I have known him to come into the laboratory straight from 
his bedroom at eight o’clock in the morning, and stick there 
with his books and experiments until midnight, sending me 
for his meals, and never so much as saying “ How do you 
do ” to his wife. He never went out with her or stayed in 
her company except when he chose to eat in the dining-room, 
and then he always had a book on the table. So that for 
days together she never opened her lips to say a word, or 
heard a word spoken ; for besides the deaf and dumb girl 
there was no woman ever in the place ; the only man was a 
gray old parson, and he wasn’t much of a companion for a 
young lady — being a parson. 

I was not surprised she should feel lonely after the gay 
companionship of Captain Bromley, and I think I should 
have felt sympathy for her then, and tried to say a word or 
two upon the work I was doing for master, etc., only that I 
saw it was against my interest. 

For it was plain by the look of her that this state of things 
couldn’t go on for long, and that when the solitude became 
perfectly unbearable she would run away to Captain Brom- 
ley. And then, thought I, if this proud Miss Howard will 
marry him, she’s not the sort of young woman the simple 
Eliza has led me to think her. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


107 

How it was that Dr. Norman did not see what must 
happen I couldn’t make out. 

Either he was too absorbed in his studies to notice the signs 
I saw by watching so closely, or he thought that she was too 
high-born to do such a thing. He didn’t read newspapers, 
or he might have been undeceived in that respect. 

Before going any farther, I must tell of a remarkable dis- 
covery I made ten days after Captain Bromley’s departure. 
On that morning I sat down in the Doctor’s chair — it being 
before his hour of rising — to cipher up how I might cut my 
nine-feet planks to cover the space of my partition, and, 
taking up a pen that lay in the inkstand, I wrote down a few 
figures. 

The pen itself first caught my eye, because I had never 
seen it on the table before ; and next my figures attracted my 
attention — they were so particularly fine. The nib was one 
of the hardest I ever wrote with ; it was impossible to make a 
heavy downstroke. Looking at the words I had written in 
trying the pen, I asked myself where I had seen writing so 
fine in its up and down strokes as that. Suddenly it occurred 
to me that the letter I had received at the Camberwell post- 
office recommending me to offer my services to Dr. Norman 
was peculiar in this way. I got the letter out of the inside 
pocket I had sewn to my waistcoat, put it before me, and 
copied the top line as clearly as I could with the hard pen. 
The resemblance was close enough to be striking. 

I opened the book, in which the doctor had made marginal 
notes, and compared the writing with my letter ; but there I 
was disappointed — though not disheartened. For though the 
writing in the book was as unlike the letter as could be, yet 
the regular, copperplate hand in the letter was such as any 
boy who had learned to write from a copybook could do. 
Before attempting to go on with this interesting inquiry, I 
looked at the kitchen clock. It was six ; the doctor never 
came down before seven. I returned to the laboratory, got 
my favorite skewer, and picked the lock of the table-drawer. 
I went carefully through all the papers without finding any 
like that on which the letter was written ; all the doctor’s 
writing-paper was thick and good quality. I shut up the 
drawer and relocked it, and then, ransacking my memory, it 
occurred to me that I had seen some cheap, thin paper in 
Mrs. Norman’s work-box one morning when casting an eye 


io8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


over her locked-up treasures. It was too late to do anything 
then. But the next morning I got up a little earlier than 
usual, took my skewer into the drawing-room, opened the work- 
box, got a sheet of the white paper, held it up to the light, 
and had the satisfaction of seeing the same water-mark in it 
that figured on the letter from my unknown counsellor. 

Now, here was the solution of a riddle that had for some 
time perplexed me. Who wrote that letter advising me to 
take service at the Moat as a means of discovering the person 
who stole the letter ? I had at first attributed it to Mr. Schlo- 
bach, but as 1 learnt more of his character, I came to see 
that he was the last person in the world to suspect any- 
body. 

Sifting out the dates, I saw how matters stood. There was 
time between the theft and the posting of the letter to me for 
Dr. Norman to have heard of the robbery, which was noised 
all over the country. Jealous of Captain Bromley from the 
first, and anxious to find that he had taken the packet, he 
took advantage of information which Captain Bromley him- 
self would detail in the way of gossip to avert suspicion from 
himself, and wrote to me with the hope of my tracing the 
theft home to him, and so putting an end to a friendship he 
could not well otherwise control. And the more I weighed 
up this theory the more solid I found it, until at last I looked 
upon it as an assured fact. 

Now to return to Dr. Norman, in whom I took fresh interest 
from the nature of this discovery. 

He had been studying poisons. There were many bottles 
he warned me against, and you may be sure I didn’t pry into 
them. A good deal of distilling and filtering went on with 
powders and drugs of all kinds. These I didn’t object to, 
being able to keep a respectful distance ; but he proceeded to 
experiment with a new kind of poison which terrified me 
fairly. 

One afternoon he went to London ; the next evening I 
fetched him from Barstow Station in the gig. He had with 
him a curious box, which he put under the seat of the trap 
with the greatest care. 

The box was about three feet long by eighteen inches,and 
ten deep. It looked as if it might be of Oriental make, for 
the top was covered with an intricate and fine fretwork of 
two kinds of wood. The lid, which was hinged, fastened in 


FOUND GUILTY. 


109 

front by a couple of eyes and pegs, but it was made more 
secure by a small nickel padlock. 

It was late when we reached the Moat, and I had no 
opportunity to examine it that night ; but I rose early the 
next morning to satisfy my curiosity. From the care with 
which the doctor handled it I thought it might contain bottles ; 
and having no great taste for bottles, I should have left the 
case alone, and all would have gone pleasantly. 

But the padlock betrayed me ; for I never could see a 
locked box without a burning desire to pick it and know what 
it contained. So to work I set with my bent skewer, got the 
little padlock off, and then drew the pegs. 

I lifted the lid carefully, for fear of breaking anything, and 
found a sheet of baize folded to fit the box. Kneeling on 
the floor, and with my left hand resting on one side of the 
box, I raised the baize with the right hand carefully. As I 
was doing this I felt something cold pass over my left hand. 
I looked, and then sprang back with horror. A long gray 
snake had issued from the box and lay upon the floor, its 
head raised towards me. 

There is nothing in the world I dread so much as these 
loathsome reptiles. I never pass through a wood without 
fear of treading on one, notwithstanding the fact that vipers 
are rare in England, and almost unknown in this northern 
county. The sight of the most harmless thrills me with 
horror. 

I concluded that Dr. Norman had procured it in order to 
experiment with its venom. As I looked at the thing my 
hair bristled on my head ; it slid with quick, zig-zag move- 
ment across the ground, and disappeared under the skirting- 
board of the wainscot against the wall. What was I to do ? 
For the life of me I could not have tried to catch it, had it 
remained near the box ; to attempt to dislodge it from the 
opening under the wainscot, with the chance of its darting 
out upon me or running up the stick to my hand, was still 
less possible. No ; come what might, it should stay in its 
refuge for any effort of mine to get it back in the box. 

I glanced at the box. A movement of the baize showed 
that there were other snakes there. In another moment the 
rest might escape — the ground might be covered in all 
directions with wriggling vipers. There was no limit to the 
terrors my imagination conjured up in that moment. 


no 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Summoning up my courage, I stepped forward, closed the 
lid of the box, and thrust in the pegs. Then I turned 
about, fearing that the escaped snake might be worming 
itself towards me. I was sick with fear. There was no 
sign of the thing. I went to my room that opened' upon the 
laboratory, and shutting the door, assured myself that there 
was no space between the sill and the foot of the door for 
the snake to pass. Then, growing calmer, I returned to 
the hateful box, cursing my fatal curiosity, and fastened the 
lock. 

Examining the skirting-board, without going too near, I 
found that from the sinking of the tiles or the shrinking of 
the wood, a space of an inch and a half existed along the 
whole length of the wall. I sat down, running my eye along 
the opening, and expecting every moment to see the hideous 
head come out, and I was still sitting there when Dr. Nor- 
man came in. 

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” he asked, seeing my con- 
dition at a glance, as I got up from the chair. I told him I 
didn’t feel well, which was the truth. 

He looked at me steadily with his half-closed eyes, put his 
fingers on my pulse, and told me to put out my tongue. 

He nodded his head, with the slightest possible smile 
creasing the muscles of his face, and bade me go and get my 
breakfast. He saw there was nothing the matter with me 
but fright. He had already cheated me, but there was no 
cheating him. I took my breakfast, and, having to feed the 
caged animals, went back to the laboratory. 

The doctor had the box on the table, and was looking in 
it ; the baize was turned back. I stood at the door. 

“ Give me my small case off the little shelf,” said he, with- 
out raising his eyes. 

I took the case to the table, not without a glance at the 
skirting-board. There seemed to be a dozen snakes, small 
and large, in the bottom of the box, some knotted together 
in the middle, and others curled up in the corners. He put 
his hand amongst them and fished out one with as much 
coolness as a fishmonger might serve an eel ; then he put in 
the baize with the other hand, arranged it carefully, and 
closed the box, while the snake in his hand was wreathing its 
tail round his arm, and dropping out its forked tongue every 
now and then. At his direction I opened the case, and gave 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Ill 


him a pair of tongs. He held the snake by the throat, and 
pressing his thumb somewhere against the back of its head, 
forced open its jaws. He looked at it closely, and then he 
carefully nipped one of its fangs with the tongs, and with a 
little twist of the wrist drew it out. 

But I have said enough to show the cool-headed, keen 
man of science he was, and I shall be glad to quit this part 
of the affair, as I was then glad to escape from the labora- 
tory, and get to my work in the lumber-room, where I was 
occupied all day in planing my boards for the partition. 
But even there I did not feel safe, and in the afternoon I 
was nearly scared out of my wits in crossing the dark room 
adjoining, by treading on a piece of old rope, and had horrid 
dreams that night. 

The next day was Sunday ; I went over to Faulcondale — 
only too happy to turn my back upon the laboratory — to see 
Eliza, whom I took out on principle every Sunday afternoon, 
weather permitting. We sat on a stile, and when I had in- 
dulged her in a little love-making, I asked her if her wish 
to get another half-crown from Captain Bromley had come 
true. 

“No,” said she; “but I think it will to-morrow, for I 
heard Miss Howard tell master this morning he was coming.” 

The silly young woman grew very red as she told me this, 
and said she did not mean to overhear, but that she could 
not help it. I told her she did wrong not to listen when she 
had the opportunity, as our employers frequently forgot to 
tell us of duties they expect us to perform, and our only 
means of knowing what is required of us is to acquaint our- 
selves of everything that takes place in the house, whether 
it concerns us or not. And she was of such a docile and 
tractable disposition that I sent her home with the fixed de- 
termination to listen in future at every door that had a key- 
hole, and be a better girl henceforth. I will say this on my 
own behalf — I practised in accordance with my preaching. 

The next morning the old parson from Orwell came to see 
Mrs. Norman, and as her symptoms seemed to be daily 
growing worse, I was, for more reasons than one, anxious to 
know what passed between them. 

Dr. Norman was in the laboratory ; I was engaged in car- 
pentering. The parson and Mrs. Norman sat for some time 
in the courtyard ; then they rose and strolled out by the gate- 


II2 


FOUND GUILTY. 


way. The doctor had told me to look for some roots of fox- 
glove in my leisure, and there being no opportunity better 
than the present, my arms aching with the work of sawing, 
and my mind still in constant excitement concerning the lost 
snake, I put on my hat and slipped out of the house in pur- 
suit of Mrs. Norman and her friend. I saw them walking 
slowly along the road. Getting up into the pine wood that 
skirted the road, I made haste to overtake them ; but 
though I was soon on a level with them, I couldn’t get near 
enough to hear their conversation, a pine wood being the 
worst place in the world for my business. The trees, though 
tolerably close together, were not thick enough to hide be- 
hind, and there was no undergrowth except a little low-grow- 
ing huckle. So, for some time, I had to keep high up in the 
wood, where I could hear nothing but a low murmur of their 
voices. However, before long Mrs. Norman fell a-crying, 
and the old parson made her sit down on a fallen tree that 
lay alongside the road, and, as luck would have it, not far off 
there was a blackberry-bush. I slipped from tree to tree as 
quickly as I could, and got down to the bush without being 
heard, for the ground was covered thick with the brown pine 
needles, and made a safe carpet. 

Mrs. Norman was sobbing pitifully, and between her sobs 
she cried, “ I cannot bear it — I cannot bear it — it is more 
than I can bear ! ” 

The old parson talked some stuff about duty, and resigna- 
tion, and such-like ; but he seemed to make no effect, which 
did not surprise me. 

“ I have tried to do right,” she went on ; “I have tried 
hard to be a good wife. I don’t want to be frivolous, as if 
I were still a girl, but I must have some sympathy — some- 
thing to make me forget what I am.” 

The parson made a few more unimportant remarks, and 
she continued : 

“ Ah, you do not know what I suffer — you cannot imagine 
it — the awful solitude, and then the terrible dread.” 

She covered her face with herliands. 

“ My dear, I have shown you that those fears were ground- 
less,” said the parson, “ and in unjustly suspecting your hus- 
band it is you who do him wrong ; and you are bound to 
overcome your suspicions, and in that way atone for a fault 
that may be excused, but which still remains a grievous fault 
on your side.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


13 


“ It may be so ; I may be mad on that point — heaven help 
me ! I sometimes think I am no longer sane ; but if,” she 
added, dropping her voice so that I could only just catch 
her words, “ if I found those fears were not groundless ” 

“ Then I would not say another word,” said the parson, 
“ nay, I would do all that lay in my power to separate you. 
Come, my child, let us walk on, and I will tell you what I 
will do, so that you may overcome an unjust hallucination or 
put an end to your sufferings in some other way.” 

He had risen, and she, rising, took his arm for support, 
and they walked on ; and thus, to my regret, I heard no more. 

Seeing which way the cat jumped, I set my wits to work 
to find an expedient for letting Mrs. Norman know that Cap- 
tain Bromley was at Faulcondale, thinking perhaps that the 
temptation from him, which the parson referred to, would be 
too strong to resist in her present state of desperation ; for 
if I could only get her to go to Faulcondale, the state of 
feeling between her and Captain Bromley would be proved, 
and most certainly shake Miss Howard’s blind faith in him. 
And it was of the most pressing importance that I should 
prevent Captain Bromley making Miss Howard his wife while 
that letter was still in his possession. 

It was not long before I hit upon apian, and as soon as the 
parson had left the house, I took a little old book, vol, ii. of 
“ Count Fathom,” which I had found amongst the lumber 
in clearing up my room for a workshop, and going into the 
sitting-room, I said : 

“ If you please, ma’am, I found this here under the garden- 
seat in the court.” 

“It must belong to your master,” said she, after looking at 
the title. “ Take it to him, Peters.” 

“ If you please, ma’am, I don’t think it belongs to master, 
because I see Captain Bromley a-reading it when he was here.” 

“ I will send it to him by post, in that case.” 

“ I’ll take it over to him after tea, if you like, ma’am. 
That’ll be quicker.” 

“ Take it to him ! ” she said quickly. “ Captain Bromley is 
in London.” 

“ I beg your pardon, ma’am. The young woman I’m 
walking out with, Mr. Schlobach’s servant, told me yester- 
day as he is a-staying there.” 

I saw an angry flash in her eyes, and then a look of pain, 

8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I14 

and then she turned away hastily to her work-basket that 1 
might not see her face. 

It was quite a minute before she spoke ; then, in a faint 
voice, she said, without turning : 

“ Leave the book on the table. You need not take it.” 

I felt sure she meant to go to Faulcondale, but I was dis- 
appointed. At ten o’clock I was hanging about in the 
courtyard hoping that something would come of my scheme, 
when I saw a light in her bedroom. There was a light in 
Martha’s bedroom also. Dr. Norman was in the laboratory ; 
it was his habit to go round and look to the doors before 
going to bed, and as I did not wish to be caught in the yard, 
I made my way sorrowfully out of the court, got down into 
the ditch, and, going round the outside of the house, entered 
my room by the window overlooking the Moat, and from which 
I had contrived a means of getting in and out by a piece of 
old timber stuck against the wall. I had hardly got into 
bed when I heard Mrs. Norman shriek. There was just that 
one awful cry and all was still. Then I heard Dr. Norman’s 
chair move, and the great latch of the laboratory lifted. I 
leapt out of bed, slipped on my clothes, and, going into the 
empty laboratory, where the doctor’s lamp was throwing a 
light upon the open book he had left, I went to the blind in 
which was the hole that Dr. Norman had used to keep his 
eye upon his wife and Captain Bromley. 

The lights were just as I had last seen them — one in Mrs. 
Norman’s room, and one in the deaf and dumb girl’s. I could 
see no movement of shadows ; I could hear no sound. 

I stood there wondering what on earth the shriek meant 
and what might happen next, and these speculations made 
me forgetful of the danger of being discovered. 

Suddenly someone spoke quite close to me. It w^as Dr. 
Norman. 

“ Peters,” he said, “ do you know this ? ” 

And, turning in alarm, I found him holding, with its head 
but a few inches from my face, the long gray snake I had 
suffered to escape from the box. 

******* 

I learnt afterwards from Martha that as she was about to 
put out her light Mrs. Norman had burst into the room, with 
a face as white as her nightdress, and, seizing her by the wrist, 
had dragged her along the gallery and into her bedroom. 


FOUND GUILTY, 


IIS 

There, approaching the bed, she pointed to a snake lying in 
a long fold between the pillow and the bed-clothes. Then 
she staggered to a chair and fainted. 


CHAPTER XII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

Valentine wrote, telling me that unless any unforeseen 
change in Mrs. Bromley’s condition occurred to prevent it, 
he should be with us on Monday. I drove over to Barstow 
to meet him. I thought Coquelicot would never get to the 
station in time. Yet I arrived there quite half an hour too 
early, and that half-hour seemed the longest I had ever known. 
But the train came crawling in at last, and Valentine was the 
first to get out. 

I was so happy in seeing him, or he so happy in seeing me 
— perhaps both — that I perceived no change in him for some 
time, except that he looked more handsome than ever. But 
when we came to talk of Mrs. Bromley, and we were grave, I 
saw how careworn and anxious his dear face was. 

He told me that his mother could not move without help, 
being quite paralyzed in one side, and that she needed at- 
tention night and day ; and I believe, though he said nothing 
about it, that he chiefly nursed her. And who could be so 
tender and solicitous as he t 

“ I wish you were in London, darling,” he said ; “it is un- 
natural to be so far apart, loving so much.” 

And, indeed, I felt so too, with all my heart. 

Now that we were talking upon serious matters, I told him 
how I had failed in my endeavors to see Mrs. Norman. 
This failure had given me great trouble, for I earnestly 
desired to be of service to the poor lady, not only on her own 
account, but because it was Valentine’s wish. I know he 
was too generous to think that I had not tried my hardest 
to succeed, and his manner and his words proved that now. 
We talked about this matter for some time. 

“ I cannot make it out,” he said with a little impatience. 
“ If Norman were a villain one could understand the affair. 


ii6 


FOUND GUILTY. 


But he is too indifferent to be actively cruel. He is a man 
accustomed to study cause and effect, and look more deeply 
into things than such men as myself possibly can. He 
would do nothing without a purpose, and 1 cannot see what 
he has to gain by such cruelty as can alone explain this. 
She has much to suffer in being married to such a man as 
Norman, but that does not account for all that is strange in 
her conduct. She seemed delighted when I proposed that 
she should make you her friend, and got Norman to agree to 
it. Yet the very next day she changes her mind and is ab- 
solutely rude to you. I wrote to her suggesting that she 
should come to London and see my mother, and she refused 
in a roundabout way, making a very absurd excuse. If she 
were acting under coercion it would all be understandable. 
But Norman has nothing to gain by coercing her. He does 
not love her well enough to object to her leaving the house 
for a few days, nor can he feel jealous of her affections being 
devoted to friends for whom he has no liking.” 

He seemed to regret the irritation which had led him to say 
this, for he said, some time after, in the kindest tone : 

“ One ought to forget her faults in consideration of her 
sorrows. There’s no one in the world so much to be pitied 
as a flattered coquette when she wakes from her brief dream 
of happiness to the severe reality of a lonely life. Poor 
soul ! she was the brightest, prettiest, most fascinating 
girl.” 

“ She had many admirers, I suppose ? ” said I, my evil feel- 
ing of jealousy quickened by this praise. 

“ Yes ; and now there’s not one who cares for her — not one 
— unless my impatience is overlooked.” 

You were amongst her admirers ? ” 

“ I stood at the head of them at one time. I thought I 
should die if I didn’t make her my wife.” 

“ And why didn’t you ? ” I asked quickly. 

He smiled. 

“ There was more than one reason,” he said ; and then, 
turning upon me with that tone of pleasantry he adopted 
when he perceived my weakness, he added : “ One very good 
reason is that while I was in Egypt she married Dr. Norman. 
But a still better reason, in your opinion, perhaps, is that I 
gave up the idea of marrying her or dying without her when 
I came to the age of discretion, and thought that a young 


FOUND GUILTY. 


117 

man of twenty-one should aspire to someone a little more 
mature than a young girl of twelve or thirteen.” 

When I found he had only been trying me, I was ashamed 
of my jealousy. Nevertheless, I was not quite cured of it 
then ; for at night, when I was alone, and going over the 
pleasant incidents of my dear love’s visit, this unpleasant 
little trifle returned to my mind. 

If Edith were twelve when he was twenty-one, he must 
have been twenty-eight when she was my age. Why had 
his love not returned for the young coquette, so bright, pretty 
and fascinating.? Had it returned? had he contemplated 
marrying her when he returned from Egypt ? And had he 
only omitted this fact because he saw how jealous I was ? 

I am ashamed to say these questions rankled in my heart. 
It was not sufficient that he loved me well ; I wanted a love 
such as he had never felt for anyone else. 

He left us soon after ten the same evening to walk over 
to Barstow for the last train. He dared not wait until the 
morning, lest his mother might need him. It was too late 
for me to take him to the station, and he refused to let us 
send for the farm lad to drive the chaise. He preferred 
walking, he said. 

“ It is pleasanter when one wants to think about one’s 
happiness,” he added. 

Before going he put a lovely ring upon my finger ; and 
when he saw that it fitted, he said : 

“ Ah, now I know what size the other is to be ! ” 

I was still awake, though it was very late — nearly morning 
indeed — when I heard a violent ring at the bell. My first 
thought was that Valentine had missed the train — for I had 
kept him until the very last moment possible — and returned. 
I leapt out of bed, opened the door, and listened. My guar- 
dian threw up the window. I heard him call : 

“ Who is there ? ” 

Then I heard a voice from the garden call, in reply : 

“ Me, sir.” 

I went to the window and peeped down. I saw the young 
man Peters from Beauchamp Moat, standing in the moon- 
light below. 

“ What do you want, my good chap ? ” asked my professor. 

“ I’m come over from the Moat, sir. Dr. Norman sent 
me to see if his wife is here.” 


ii8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Mrs. Norman ! No, she is not here,” answered my guar- 
dian. “ And nobody is here.” 

“ Well, then, I don’t know where else to look for her,” said 
the young man, speaking in a high-toned voice so that I could 
hear every word. “ She’s cut away from the Moat, that’s 
certain.” 

“ Cut away ! what do you mean ? ” 

“ Gone off, sir. But she was there two hours ago, for she 
was seen talking to Captain Valentine Bromley.” 

I held my breath ; the beating of my heart seemed to stifle 
me. 

“ Ah, my good chap, that is all a mistake, for he left this 
house at ten o’clock to catch the train at Barstow.” 

“ But are you sure that he went by that train, sir ? ” 

“ To be sure he did.” 

“ Ten o’clock — that’d just about given him time to get over 
to the Moat by twelve.” 

“ I tell you he went by the train. Thunder and lightning ! 
if he said he would go by it, you may be sure he went. And 
what the teffle has that got to do with Mrs. Norman t ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, sir. Only it ain’t likely she ran away 
by herself, is it — and him a-talking to her outside ? ” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


119 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THE REV. DR. BULLEN. 

I WAS awoke from my sleep about two o’clock in the morn- 
ing of August the 1 5th, by a single knock at the front door, 
and I pray forgiveness for the reluctance with which I roused 
myself up and the disinclination I felt to do my duty ; but a 
man, when three-parts asleep, is not completely master of 
himself, and I have remarked that at such times his spirit 
is not capable of exaltation. Although having but little skill 
in medicine, my parishioners, especially those living in the 
more distant parts of the parish, never scruple to send for 
me in case of illness ; but as I had reason to believe that 
they only sent for me when the patient was not sufficiently 
ill to justify the expense of calling in a doctor, I felt a little 
sore that they should take advantage of my position in the 
middle of the night. Therefore, I was longer dressing than 
I should have been, and while I was yet struggling to get 
on my coat the knock was repeated. 

I threw up the window and looked out. The moon was 
upon the back of the house, throwing the front into deep 
shade, so that I could see nothing. But, as I looked, I 
fancied I heard a footstep in the road — the night being won- 
derfully still — and, at the same moment, a woman, with un- 
covered head, stepped quickly out of the shadow, and going 
to the gate, which was in the full moonlight, looked up the 
road in the direction of the approaching steps. As she hur- 
ried back she cried, under her breath, and raising her white 
face and hands to me : 

“ Come down ! Save me ! For the love of Heaven, save 
me ! ” 

I was not a minute getting downstairs and opening the 
door. I had not waited even to catch up the lighted candle. 
As I opened the door the woman passed me, gasping some 
inarticulate words. 


120 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I was only just in time ; the garden gate swung open, and 
a man strode up to the door. 

“ Who are you } ” I asked, not sure whether to believe my 
eyes or not. 

* “ I am Dr. Norman, and I have come for my wife, who has 
just entered this house.” 

He would have entered the house also, but being a stout 
man and still sturdy on my legs, I effectively barred the way. 

Now, only the day before Mrs. Norman had broken silence 
upon the subject of her secret terrors, and told me that she 
believed her husband intended to take her life. I could not 
think this possible, but was rather inclined to believe that she 
wronged her husband by a suspicion arising from a morbid 
hallucination, and so tried to persuade her from her idea. 

But I had promised that my house should be her asylum, 
and that I would stand between her and her husband, and 
take means to place her in the safe-keeping of her friends, 
should she obtain direct proof of his evil intentions. And 
now, determined to make that promise good, I told the doc- 
tor that while I had the strength to hold my own, no power 
of his should avail to take Mrs. Norman from my house. 

“ At least you will listen to argument,” said he. 

“Yes,” said I ; “but until I have heard all your wife has 
to tell, I will not listen to a word you have to say.” 

“Very good,” he replied; “but I warn you that you are 
subjecting yourself to the gravest responsibility. My wife is 
not in her sound senses, and you will be chargeable with the 
consequences of taking her out of my proper care.” 

I have never shirked the responsibilities of my actions, 
and so I told him ; whereupon, after a minute’s reflection, he 
turned upon his heel and walked away, saying that he would 
see" me later on, when I should probably regard the matter 
in another light. 

I closed the door, and my old servant Elizabeth, whom I 
had hastily called in running downstairs, now appearing with 
a lighted candle, we took poor Mrs. Norman into the sitting- 
room. 

She could not speak for some time, but sat upon the couch 
with her face buried in her hands, trembling like one in an 
ague. However, with the aid of Elizabeth, who is every way 
as good a doctor as myself, and some good brown brandy, I 
succeeded in bringing her round to a calmer condition of body 


FOUND GUILTY. 


121 


and mind, when I sent my motherly old servant to prepare 
the spare bedroom, and begged Mrs. Norman to tell me the 
cause of her flight. 

She waited some minutes silent, as if collecting her 
thoughts, and then said : 

“ Tell me if there are serpents here.” 

“ Serpents ! ” said I , ‘‘what do you mean, my dear ? ” 

“ Snakes, with flat heads and narrow eyes,” she replied, 
with terror in her voice. 

I have never seen a snake in this country in all my life,” 
said 1. “ If any exist they are rare, and can only be an in - 

offensive blind worm — a little creature some ten or twelve 
inches long.” 

“ There is none a yard long — more than that — with a head 
shaped like a heart, and with a body like glass ? ^ 

“ No ; I assure you with perfect sincerity that no such 
creature is to be found here.” 

“ There was one in my room,” she said, with growing ex- 
citement — “ upon my bed — a hideous thing, coiled below my 
pillow. How did it come there } ” 

The story was so incredible, so like the creation of a dis- 
ordered mind, that I feared her reason was gone, as the 
doctor declared. But not wishing her to. see my suspicion, I 
asked in a serious tone if anyone had seen the snake beside 
herself. 

“ Yes,” she answered ; “ I fetched Martha from her room ; 
we both saw it — and I fainted. And while I was unconscious, 
Norman came and took the thing away, and went back to his 
studies as if nothing had happened. Martha sat with me for 
some time until I sent her away. But I could not stay in 
my room alone ; I dressed myself and came away; and all 
along the road I heard Norman following me. And when I 
hid he stopped, and when I went on he was behind me, always 
following to catch me and take me back.” 

This surely was hallucination. 

“ We will talk about this in the morning, my dear,” said I, 
rising as Elizabeth returned to the room ; “ and, doubtless, 
then we shall be able to explain what now seems to us in- 
comprehensible.” 

“ I know what you mean,” she said, with quick suspicion ; 

my husband is coming to-morrow morning. He will ex- 
plain this to your satisfaction — oh, he will do that! — and 


122 


FOUND GUILTY. 


then you will let him take me back there. But that he shall 
not do. I will go away now. I will kill myself rather than 
return to that house. I will not wait for him to explain.” 

“ Let him explain as he will,” said I, “ he shall not take 
you away against your wish. I promise you that — I promise 
you that I will not be persuaded. I promise you that I will 
telegraph to your friends in London, and send you to them in 
safety. My dear, you must believe me.” 

She stood irresolute for some seconds, and then, dropping 
her face into her hands, burst into a flood of tears. After that 
we persuaded the poor soul to go to bed — Elizabeth sleeping 
in the adjoining room. 

Before returning to my room, I wrote a message to Captain 
Bromley, who had left me his private address, telling him 
what had happened, and begging him to reply at once as to 
what I should do ; and this message I sent to the telegraph- 
offlce on coming down at half-past seven. 

I bade Elizabeth take breakfast to Mrs. Norman in her 
room, and with it I sent up a little note, counselling her to 
keep her room and lock her door until she felt safe in coming 
down. 

Shortly after nine the gig came up to the garden gate, and 
Dr. Norman stepped out. I met him at the door and led him 
into the parlor. 

“ Where is my wife ? ” he asked, looking round the room 
as if he expected to find her there. 

“ She is upstairs,” I replied. 

“ I have come to fetch her,” said he. 

“ Yes ; but she does not wish to return with you,” I an- 
swered. 

“ But if /wish it? ” he answered coldly. 

“ That makes not the slightest difference. I shall only 
consult Mrs. Norman’s wishes and my own sense of right.” 

“ Does your sense of right comprise a regard for the laws 
of your country ? ” 

“ Yes, for those laws which protect the weak. But for the 
weak not so protected my sense of right makes a law of its 
own.” 

“ That is to say, because your view of the proper treatment 
of mental alienation differs from the scientific view, you feel 
justified in the abduction of a wife from the lawful keeping 
of her husband ? ” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


123 


I could make no response, for this was a kind of chop-logic 
beyond me. 

“ Come, sir,” he continued, “ show me what feasible objec- 
tion exists to Mrs. Norman being in my custody. Her in- 
tellect is deranged, and I have prescribed for her a course of 
treatment based upon long study and much experience of 
mental disorder. Now is it because I am her husband that 
you think I must be a bad physician, or because I am a phy- 
sician that I must be a bad husband ? ” 

I knew that if the questions were to be decided by reason- 
ing, I might just as well go up and fetch Mrs. Norman down 
at once ^ so I replied : 

“ While I feel I am doing right, no logic in the world shall 
make me do wrong,” 

“ If your sense of right won’t allow of argument,” said he, 
“ we will set that aside, and take your other suggestion into 
consideration. You said that Mrs. Norman should not leave 
your house against her wish ; that implies that you will not 
detain her against her wish.” 

“ Certainly it does,” said 1. 

“ Will you permit me to see my wife } ” he asked, with a 
little air of assurance that seemed to say, “ We’ll soon settle 
this business now.” 

“ No, ” said I stoutly ; “ I will not permit you to see her.” 

“ I do not intend to use physical force. I merely wish to 
know from her lips that she will not return to her home 
after I have shown her the wrong she is doing by leaving it.” 

But I would not agree to this ; for, thought I, if I am no 
match for him in reasoning, how ill will she come off ! 
Besides, I knew not what trick he might have up his sleeve, 
as it were ; or what influence his unspoken intentions might 
have in overawing her. I remembered how the dumb beasts 
on whom he experimented had cowered in submissive terror 
at the mere sight of his face. 

“ Have you any objection to listening to reason yourself? ” 
he asked. 

I told him I had none, and I determined inwardly that he 
might reason until he was black in the face before ever I 
would be misled by his sophistries. 

“ The acute form of hypochondria, which is the present 
phase of my wife’s disorder,” he began, “ has led her lately 
to imagine that she was being poisoned. She believes that 


124 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I have been slowly poisoning her. How absurd that suppo- 
sition is you may imagine by the fact that I have made no 
secret of my studies in toxicology, which would in the event 
of her death at once direct an inquiry, which, if it failed to 
convict me of a stupid murder, would at least blast my 
prospects as a man of science. I have gone so far as to show 
you the means of detecting the presence of that poison, and 
this would show a reckless or imbecile regard to my own 
safety inconsistent with the character of a diab^olical miscreant. 
But last night ^an accident occurred which threw her hypo- 
chondriacal misgivings into a new channel. A viper was 
found in her room.’* 

“ It is true that a snake lay on her bed ? ” 

“ Perfectly true. It is one of a collection I bought some 
time since of J amrach, a London dealer ; their venom was 
necessary to my studies. They were inclosed in a box fas- 
tened with bolts and a padlock, the key of which I kept in 
my pocket. I was not sure of the number, but it seemed to 
me on the morning after I brought them home that there was 
one less than I had bargained for. As I had not opened the 
box before, and had kept the key on a ring with several 
others, I conceived that I was in error or that the man Jam- 
rach had managed to deceive me. That morning I drew 
the poison-fangs of every snake in the box. You follow.?” 

I nodded, and he continued : 

“ Last night, when my wife’s cry took me to her room, I 
was astonished to see a snake there ; but on taking it up I 
was still more astonished to find that its poison-fangs were 
not drawn. I recognized also that this was the snake miss- 
ing from my collection. Necessarily, therefore, it had escaped 
from the box before I opened it on the morning after bring- 
ing them from London. My suspicions fell at once upon a 
young man employed in my laborator)^, whose ill-concealed 
terror in moving about the laboratory had aroused my suspi- 
cion I went to his room and discovered amongst his effects 
a picklock. With the snake in my hand, I taxed him with 
having gone to the box to satisfy his curiosity. I have 
brought the fellow with me — he is now in the gig. Call him 
in and put what questions you like to him, and you will find 
that I am as guiltless of this ridiculous charge of attempting 
to kill my wife with a snake as with slow poison. The one 
charge contradicts the other — for why should I employ a 


FOUND GUILTY. 


25 


viper when using an internal poison, or why an internal 
poison when employing a viper ? But call Peters in ; his 
statement may be more convincing than my argument.” 

“ No,” said I, rising ; “ if I cannot believe you I cannot 
believe your man; and neither argument nor statement of 
any kind shall shake my resolution, which is to keep Mrs. 
Norman until her friends whom she does not dread can take 
her into their charge.” 

“ If you will not give her up without legal compulsion, I 
must seek legal aid — an alternative which I should gladly 
avoid in consideration to the position of one who has, I am 
sure, none but the kindest feelings for my unhappy wife.” 

“ Take your alternative, sir, and never mind me or my 
position,” said I, and so we parted. 

But I own I was not so indifferent as I pretended ; for, 
not knowing how the law might stand on this subject, I 
greatly feared he would get power from a magistrate to return 
with a constable and take Mrs. Norman out of my hands 
before I got an answer to my telegram. 

I was not concerned a button about my position or such 
stuff ; my only fear was for Mrs. Norman. 

For, though every word Dr. Norman had spoken might 
be as true as Holy Writ, I was still convinced that such treat- 
ment as her husband thought fit was in fact thoroughly unfit 
for one in her condition, and this notwithstanding that he 
was a man of learning and I only a rustic in comparison. 

Mrs. Norman still kept her room, albeit I had sent Eliza- 
beth up to tell her that her husband was gone ; but to give 
her courage I went into the garden and did a little budding 
of roses — very badly — where she might see me from her room 
window. Yet I was little in humor for such delicate work, 
for as my church clock struck quarter after quarter I kept 
wondering why a reply did not come to my despatch, and I 
was greatly vexed to think how indifferently I had replied to 
Dr. Norman’s arguments, when now I could find a dozen 
things to say. 

A little before twelve Mrs. Norman came down. After 
pressing her hand, I put it through my arm and took her 
round the garden, and without hinting at her husband’s 
theory of her mental condition, I told her what he had said 
in explanation of the snake being in her room. 

She was silent for a time, and then she said : 


126 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ If this is true — and you seem to think it is — then I have 
wronged him. And if I have wronged him in this I have 
wronged him in other things, and I am not a good wife.” 

At this juncture I heard the postman at the door, and 
presently down came Elizabeth, as fast as her old legs could 
trot, with a telegram. It was from Captain Bromley, and 
ran thus : 

“ I was out when telegram came. I shall stay here until I 
hear again from you. Send Edith to London by next train, 
and telegraph from the station to me. I will be at the terminus 
to meet her.” 

I put the paper in her hand, and said : 

“We will have dinner, and go over to Barstow in a fly 
from the George ; and you shall go to London, where you’re 
more likely to be a good wife than locked up in a ruin with 
no kindly voice to cheer you on your way.” 

And after dinner we drove to Barstow — Elizabeth having 
previously purchased in Lipley a bonnet and shawl for Mrs. 
Norman, which, though a Little fine, reflected great credit on 
the old woman’s judgment — and at Barstow I put the young 
wife in a first-class compartment. She was quite alone there. 
She preferred that, and as I saw she still feared being taken 
by her husband, I bade her pull down the blinds and enjoy 
the trumpery I had picked up on the bookstall in the form 
of a cheap romance. She could only express her gratitude 
with tears, which I would willingly have gone without. I 
pressed her hand, she drew down the blinds, and I gave the 
guard half a crown to lock the door and take care of her. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


127 


CHAPTER XIV. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

I VENTURE to say that very few young fellows in my posi- 
tion would have regarded the future without a feeling of de- 
spair and a belief that it would be best to try something else 
as a means of getting a living, and I admit that as I returned 
to my room after this unfortunate termination of the snake 
affair, I perceived that I might look for an immediate dis- 
missal from Beauchamp Moat ; but I had such confidence 
in my own abilities that my mind was more occupied in pre- 
paring for fresh encounters than in dwelling on past mishaps. 

My brain being thus occupied, I was wide awake when 
about midnight Dr. Norman came to my door and ordered 
me to get up at once, as he required me to go to Faulcondale 
and see if Mrs. Norman was at Mr. Schlobach’s. 

I did not require twice telling. I did not doubt that Mrs. 
Norman had run away — I had laid the temptation of flight 
in her way the day before by telling her that Captain Brom- 
ley was at Faulcondale — but I doubted that she had gone to 
Faulcondale at this hour. Rather it seemed to me that the 
crafty Captain had found means to communicate with her, and 
had himself fetched her — a supposition which agreed entirely 
with 'my knowledge of his real character. 

However, I lost no time in going over to Faulcondale, for 
this event offered me admirable means of exciting the slug- 
gish suspicions of the folks there, and arousing them to the 
actual danger of the situation. Every light was out, and I 
knew at once that Mrs. Norman was not there. But I woke 
up the household with a loud and long ring at the bell, and 
when the professor, with a white nightcap oh his head, looked 
out of the window and told me that Mrs. Norman had not 
sought refuge under that roof, I led him to believe that she had 
been talking to Captain Bromley outside the Moat, and thit 
they must have gone away together. In this I did not stick 


128 


FOUND GUILTY. 


entirely to what I knew had taken place, but rather to what I 
believed must have happened. 

I was undeceived on my return to the Moat, when Dr. 
Norman told me that Mrs. Norman was at Orwell parson- 
age. 

“ You will have the gig at the door by eight o’clock — and 
be prepared to go with me,” he added. “ It may be neces- 
sary for you to tell the whole truth concerning the snake you 
allowed to escape from the case. I advise you for once to 
tell the exact truth ; the slightest deviation will compel me to 
expose all I know about you.” 

I had already come to the conclusion that he knew me and 
my purpose in coming to the Moat ; I now was convinced. I 
determined to act upon his advice and tell the whole truth 
about the snake if I should be called upon to do so. 

I saw that Mrs. Norman had not eloped with Captain 
Bromley, and that she was about to be brought back to the 
Moat. After that I should be sent about my business ; that 
was clear also. 

We drove over to Orwell, and while Dr. Norman was in 
the passage I sat in the gig, expecting every moment to be 
called in to tell the truth — a most uncomfortable position for 
anyone who values his self-respect. However, I escaped that 
mortification. 

After a considerable space of time Dr. Norman came from 
the house, followed by the old parson. Neither of them 
spoke ; they exchanged a cold, stiff bow, and my master 
came to the gig with an expresssion on his face w'hich would 
have defied anybody to understand. I could never make out 
by his looks at any time what his real feelings were. 

He had evidently foreseen what was to be done in the 
event of Mrs. Norman refusing to return to the Moat, for as 
he stepped lightly into the gig he said “ Lipley,” and when 
we were going in that direction, and nearing the cross lane 
that strikes into the new London road, he added, “ Turn to 
the left,” and again when we approached the London road, 
“ To the left.” 

Following these directions, we now spun along, our backs 
to Lipley, our faces to Faulcondale. 

What was his object? Did he intend to call upon Pro- 
fessor Schlobach ? 

‘‘ Faulcondale, sir, or Barstow? ” 


FOUND GUILTY, 


129 


“ Barstow,” he replied ; and leaning back in the corner of 
the hood with his hat tilted over his eyes, he crossed his 
arms and composed himself to sleep. The breeze annoyed 
him ; he roused himself up impatiently, drew the green cur- 
tain half-way across, and then again arranged himself in 
a comfortable position for dozing. 

I also drew back in the hood, though not to go to sleep ; 
for it struck me that if we met the old foreigner he would 
want to know the news about Mrs. Norman, and I did not 
wish what I had said about her talking to Captain Bromley 
to come out before the doctor. 

And just as I had feared, as we came in sight of the old 
farm-house, I caught sight of the professor with a long pipe 
in his hand, talking to the postman. 

“ ’Tis ten to one but he knows the gig,” said I to myself, 
and gave the horse a sharp stroke with the whip that put 
him to a better pace. 

The professor was facing us, and evidently he did know 
the gig, for he stepped forward to the side of the path. 

I glanced sidelong at the doctor ; his hat had got on to 
the bridge of his nose, his head being wedged in the corner 
of his hood, and his mouth was partly open ; then I glanced 
at the professor, who was now not more than a dozen yards 
off. He held up his finger as a signal ; but pretending not 
to see him, nor to hear his “ Hi, young chap ! ” I gave the 
horse another cut that quickened his pace to a gallop, and 
so I passed that danger. 

Dr. Norman slept for some time — that was natural, seeing 
that he had slept scarcely more than I during the night — 
but at length rousing himself, he put his hat on the back of 
his head, rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms, and looking 
out, said in some surprise : 

“ Have we passed Faulcondale ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” I answered, “ and we’re pretty nigh Barstow.” 

He rubbed his glasses in silence, and putting them on, said : 

“ You can put up the gig at the inn by the station, and wait 
there for me. If I don’t return to-day, you can sleep there. 
Get what you need to eat and drink. But don’t leave the inn 
until you see me.” 

“ Very good, sir,” said I, wondering what on earth he was 
after now. 

I set him down at the station, and drove the gig to the 

9 


130 


FOUND GUILTY. 


inn, which is close by. i^rom the stable-yard there is a fair 
view of the up platform. I stood up in the gig, and casting 
my eye that way I saw the doctor standing beside a porter 
with his back turned to the people on the platform and some 
distance from them, writing in his note-book. 

I took notice of the porter, and observed that he had a red 
face and a little sandy whisker. 

I put my horse up and sat down, weighing up everything in 
my mind, until the train had gone ; then I strolled off to the 
station, where, with very little search, I found the red-faced 
porter with the little sandy whisker. 

I waited till he was alone, and seemingly waiting for 
someone to come and recommence conversation, and then I 
lounged up to him. 

“ Fine day,” said I. 

He nodded, and waited with his mouth half open for me to 
tell him what I wanted. 

“You can’t tell me where my governor’s gone, can you ?” 
I asked. 

“ Who’s your governor ? ” 

“ The gentleman who was talking to you before the up- 
train came in,” said I. 

“ Dr. Norman ? ” he asked. 

I nodded, not a little surprised that he knew the doctor’s 
name, he being so close in a general way. 

“ What do you want to know for ? ” he asked, with a stupid 
grin on his face. 

“ Why, I’ll tell you,” said I. “ He told me to wait here till 
he comes back. Well, if he’s gone to London, I don’t want 
to hang about here all day ; but if he’s only gone a little 
distance to see a patient, I don’t want to be out of the way 
when he comes back, or I shall get the sack.” 

“ He ain’t gone to London, then.” 

“ Oh, if he’s only gone to Boxham ” said I. 

“ And he ain’t gone to Boxham,” said the porter, who 
seemed to fancy he was knowing. 

“ If he ain’t gone to London, he must have gone to 
Boxham,” said I, putting on a little artfulness to draw him 
out. 

“ No, he ain’t gone to neither,” replied he, with a grin 
more knowing than ever, “ because he’s gone to Holdness 
Junction, there now.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


131 


I pretended to be very much puzzled by this. 

“ Anyhow,” said I, in conclusion, “ if he’s only gone to 
Holdness, he may be back by the next train, and so it ain’t 
worth risking one good place for the sake of another ; though 
it ain’t every day we get the chance of a comfortable home 
and eighteen shillings a week.” 

“ Eighteen shillings a week and a comfortable home ! ” said 
he in astonishment. 

“ Yes, and a nice, pretty, fat housemaid, too.” 

“ Where’s that ” he asked. 

“ Oh, a good long way from here,” said I ; and seeing I had 
tickled his curiosity, and excited his envy as well, I turned 
off the subject and went to look at the time bill. 

When the down-train had passed through, the red-faced 
porter strolled up to me and asked if I was going out to have 
a glass. I accepted the invitation, and we went to the inn, 
and there, after beating about the bush, he began to question 
me about the comfortable home, eighteen shillings a week, 
and the fat housemaid. But I pretended to fight shy, know- 
ing he would tell me his secret, if he had one, to get at mine. 
When a countryman thinks he is clever, he never fails to fall 
into this trap. 

“ Your master’s a rum un,” he said. 

“ Not a bad sort,” said I. 

“ Fond of the ladies, ain’t he 

“ I should think he is, too,” and we grinned at one another. 

“ Do you know Dr. Bullen, the minister ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, yes ; I know him,” said I. 

“ He’s going to send a lady up to London, ain’t he .? ” 

“ I heard him say something about it last night when he 
came to see the governor,” I replied, without letting him see 
my delight in picking up this information. 

“ Well, your governor’s gave me two shillings to wire him 
the number of the carriage as Mr. Bullen puts the lady into.” 

“ Well, I never ! ” I exclaimed. “ I wonder what the gov- 
ernor’s wife ’d say if she knew that ! ” 

“ Do you know what I’d do if I was in your place ? ” asked 
this clever young fellow. 

“ Tell the missus ? ” 

“ Not me. But I’d sort of threaten it, and make the gover- 
nor pay me to keep quiet. If you was only to be spry, you 
could make a heap o’ money out of this.” 


132 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I pretended to be very much taken with this brilliant sug- 
gestion, said I should stick to my place, and then without 
reserve told him that the old German gentleman at Faulcon- 
dale was the person who wanted a man-servant. The pro- 
fessor did not want one' as a matter of fact, but it was no 
harm to give my friend a little exercise, and indulge his mind 
in the pleasures of hope. 

The next up-traln left Barstow at 4.45, so I had plenty of 
time to think out the subject and make my plans. 

The case was pretty clear. Mrs. Norman had refused to 
return to Beauchamp Moat, and the doctor knew or had rea- 
son to believe that the parson would send her in the course 
of the day to her friends in London. Her friends in London 
meant Captain Bromley ; for however Mrs. Norman might 
mislead the soft old clergyman, she could not deceive her 
jealous husband. His intention was to cut off her escape. 
For that purpose he had gone to Holdness Junction, where 
all trains stop, and had bribed the porter to telegraph the 
number of the carriage in which she travelled. The telegram 
would reach him long before the arrival of the train, and he 
had but to take his wife from the carriage and bring her back 
to Barstow, where the gig was in waiting to carry her thence 
to the Moat. 

Now, should I upset this nice little arrangement or not ? 
What had I to gain by suffering Mrs. Norman to be caught 
and taken back to the Moat ? Nothing. On the other hand, 
what had I to gain by facilitating her escape } Much. It 
was not unlikely that the event of the night before had 
already excited Miss Howard’s jealousy and suspicions. 
Those feelings would be confirmed if Mrs. Norman were 
thrown under the protection of Captain Bromley. 

But there was yet another advantage to be gained by siding 
with Mrs. Norman against her husband. Captain Bromley 
would be under a moral obligation to accept my services, 
upon my representing that I had lost my place at the Moat 
by my devotion to Mrs. Norman. And it was only by getting 
into his service, by making myself acquainted with his move- 
ments, and worming out his secrets, that I could succeed in 
discovering the important part of the missing letter, without 
which the mere obstruction of his marriage with Miss Howard 
could bring me no advantage. 

I determined to save Mrs. Norman. How ? 


FOUND GUILTY. 


133 


The first means that came to my mind was to overbribe 
the clever porter. But there was danger in this. He was 
just cunning enough to take my money and cheat me at the 
same time, seeing a possible gain to be made out of Dr. Nor- 
man, and nothing would have pleased him better than to 
overreach me. 

My next idea was to go along the road and warn the clergy- 
man and Mrs. Norman ; but there the advantage would have 
been more on Mrs. Norman’s side than mine. 

The best way of forcing Captain Bromley’s recognition was 
to pilot Mrs. Norman to her destination in London, and 
make her conscious of the fate from which she had been 
saved. 

This suggested the plan upon which I resolved to act. 

I kept out of the clever porter’s way, that he might not 
suspect my object, and sitting in the stable-yard, kept an eye 
on the entrance to the booking-office. 

About a quarter past four a covered fly drove up, and out 
of it stepped Mr. Bullen. I was too far away to see if he 
had left anyone in the fly. He went into the station, and, 
coming out with his watch in his hand, spoke to someone in 
the fly ; then he opened the door, addressing a few words to 
the driver, got into the carriage, and they drove off. I saw 
the clever porter come to the door and look after them with 
his goggle eyes starting from his head and his face blank with 
astonishment. To me the explanation was simple enough. 
There was half an hour to spare, and Mrs. Norman, fearful 
of being pursued by her husband, dreaded to be seen in the 
waiting-room. As I expected, the carriage returned in twenty 
minutes, and then the old parson handed Mrs. Norman out, 
and took her into the station. 

I waited till I saw them on the up platform ; then I went 
over to the station, and making sure that the clever porter 
was not in sight, I took a first-class ticket to London at the 
booking-office. 

It was necessary that neither Dr. Bullen nor Mrs. Norman 
should see me at that time ; so I waited in the booking-office 
until the train ran in, then I went on the platform. 

At the foremost end of the train I saw the guard in con- 
ference with the parson. The carriage-door was open, the 
guard closed and locked it, and the parson put something 
into his hand. 


FOUND GUILTY, 


134 

The passengers were nearly all in ; the clever porter was 
running along slamming the doors — he had yet a dozen or 
so to shut. As he passed me, he said hurriedly : 

“ Remember — first, two-four-five.” 

I nodded ; it was an instruction I was not likely to forget ; 
and as he ran on, banging door after door, I stepped into the 
nearest compartment, and shut myself in. 

The passengers who had alighted were streaming along 
towards the way out as the train moved on ; amongst them 
I saw the old parson with his eyes fixed upon the departing 
train in grave solicitude, and I thought how odd it was that 
he at one end of the platform and the porter at the other 
should be both occupied with the destiny of Mrs. Norman, 
and each hopeful of a successful result of their contrary 
efforts, whilst I alone, unknown to them, was master of her 
fate. 

It was a parliamentary train — a fact I had been careful to 
discover before starting — and when it stopped at the next 
station, I got down and ran along the platform till I came to 
the compartment of the first-class carriage marked 245. The 
blinds were drawn ; I tried the handle. The guard came up, 
and glancing at me, said : 

“ What are you at there ? Lots of room in the third.” 

I showed him my ticket. He opened the next compart- 
ment. 

“ Here’s a carriage all to yourself. Look sharp, or you’ll 
be left behind.” 

“ I’m a detective,” said I, dropping my voice. “ And I 
must know whether the woman put in this compartment by 
a man got up as a clergyman, who gave you a gratuity to lock 
the door, is the party I’m after.” 

“You can set your mind at rest about that,” said he. “ I 
was born at Orwell, and know Parson Bulkn well enough to 
answer for it he wouldn’t have anything to do with parties 
you’re after. I’m guard of this train, and it’s my duty to 
take care of the females that’s in it. If you’ve got anything 
else to say, you must say it at the next station. Now, are 
you going on or not ? ” he asked, holding the handle with one 
hand, and pulling out his whistle with the other. 

Here was an unexpected difficulty : there was no time for 
further argument, if that would have availed ; I got into the 
compartment. The guard slammed the door, whistled, and 
the train started. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


135 


There was only one more station before arriving at Hold- 
ness. How was I, in the brief interval of its stopping at 
that station, to overcome the objections of the guard and 
persuade Mrs. Norman to get out "i I saw that it was next 
to impossible. 

I went to the other side of the carriage and tried the door ; 
it was unlocked. The probability, then, was that all the doors 
on that side were unlocked. All that was needed to get into 
the next compartment with Mrs. Norman was a little firmness 
of nerve and hand. I stood for a minute or two with the 
door half open screwing up my courage. Then, jamming my 
hat tighter on my head, I turned round, put my left foot on 
the step, and, grasping the brass rail beside the door, lowered 
my right on to the footboard. I pulled the door to and 
turned the handle. I passed the door, and grasping the next 
brass, stepped along the footboard with my face to the car- 
riage, never leaving hold of one brass until I had got my 
hand firmly on the next ; and so I got to the adjoining com- 
partment and turned the handle. The door opened, I put 
my foot upon the step, and the next moment stood in the 
presence of Mrs. Norman. 

Looking at a carriage as it stands beside the platform, this 
feat looks the simplest and easiest imaginable; but with 
that same carriage spinning along at a rate of thirty miles an 
hour, oscillating, and in a fresh breeze, the thing is not so 
easily done. My heart beat, my hair grew crisp on my head, 
and I dared not look at anything but the carriage before me 
as I passed along. 

The rattle of the wheels overpowered the sound made in 
turning the handle and opening the door. Mrs. Norman, 
sitting at the further end of the compartment, with her eyes 
closed, was unconscious of my entrance. It was only when 
I pulled the door to and turned the handle again that she 
opened her eyes and saw me. She gave a cry of alarm, and 
rose. 

“ What do you want ? ” she asked, with her hand on the 
door. 

I begged her not to be alarmed, and told her that I had 
come to save her. Then I gave her a circumstantial account 
of what had happened, not deviating in a single instance 
from the exact truth — so far as concerned my transactions 
with the porter ; but it seems as if women could more readily 


FOUND GUILTY. 


136 

be brought to believe falsehood than truth, for she seemed 
anything but convinced of my good intentions when my story 
was finished. 

“ I assure you upon my word, upon my oath, I swear it,” 
said I, with all the emphasis I could put on, “ that your hus- 
band is waiting at Holdness to take you back to Beauchamp 
Moat, and that the porter at Barstow has telegraphed to him 
the number of the carriage in which he is to find you. Your 
only hope of escape is in getting down at the station we are 
coming to, and going on to London by the next train.” 

“ No, no ! ” she replied with excitement ; “ I cannot believe 
you ; you are in league with him to betray me. It is you 
who will telegraph to him, telling him where to find me if I do 
as you ask me.” 

The train was slackening ; in another moment we should 
be at the station. The thought that her wrongheadedness 
would ruin all my hopes terrified me. I swore again that she 
was wrong, that I had no object but to save her from Dr. 
Norman. When I was still speaking the train stopped. 

“ I implore you,” said I, “ to listen to reason — to get down 
here — to escape while yet you have the chance.” 

She rose with an expression of bewilderment, and I saw 
that I was about to succeed. 

I turned the handle of the door, and then called to the 
porter to come and unlock it. The porter came crawling 
towards the carriage, fumbling in his pocket for a key. 
Another minute would have saved all ; but while the porter 
was still feeling in his pockets, the guard bustled up and all 
was lost. 

“ Hullo, my young friend ; you’ve got in, ha^^e you, and 
can’t get out ! Don’t you move, ma’am,” he added, address- 
ing Mrs. Norman. “ I know this young fellow. Calls him- 
self a detective — we’ll see about that. It’s all right, ma’am ; 
don’t you be frightened. There’s a little game here that isn’t 
good enough to be played off on me.” 

I remonstrated, expostulated, said all I could ; but to no 
purpose. The guard opened the door, pushing me back 
into the compartment, got in, blew his whistle, and shut the 
door as the train started. I was too bitterly disheartened 
even to show the guard what a fool he was ; I sank into 
the seat and sat in moody silence until the train stopped at 
Holdness. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


137 


As the guard opened the door I caught sight of Dr. Nor- 
man on the platform, side by side with an inspector of police. 

“ There he is,” I cried ; “now will you believe me ” 

But it was too late. As Dr. Norman came to the door 
his wife fell back on the seat fainting. And in that condi- 
tion she was lifted out of the carriage and carried into the 
station. 

“ You are a blundering, conceited idiot ! ” said Dr. Norman 
as he passed me. That was the only attention I received. 


CHAPTER XV. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

Dr. Norman for once lost his temper, or he would never 
have uttered those words. Had he reflected but a minute 
he would have foreseen the effect that taunt had upon me. 
But of that more hereafter. 

Galled and disappointed, I continued my journey to Lon- 
don, but soon perceiving the folly of giving way to idle re- 
grets, I sat my wits to work and laid down a plan by which 
I might turn this mishap to advantage, and profit by the un- 
expected change of circumstances. 

I saw Captain Bromley on the platform at the terminus. 
After giving him time to assure himself that Mrs. Norman 
had not come, I went up to him and gave him a truthful ac- 
count of what had happened, only concealing my real motives 
and leading him to suppose that sympathy with the unfortu- 
nate Mrs. Norman was my sole incentive. 

“ Td do anything for that poor lady, sir,” said I, in a 
whining voice, “ and put no price upon my services. But it 
isn’t every day a young fellow can find such a situation as 
I had at that house ; and if you could put my action in a 
favorable light, sir, and say a good word for me, perhaps 
the doctor would take me back again.” 

“ You shall not be a loser by your service,” he said, and 
then, bidding me wait for him, he went into the telegraph 
office. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


138 

When he returned he dismissed a brougham that was wait- 
ing, and then, giving me a sovereign and his card, told me 
to meet him at his address — Fairlawn, Wimbledon — in a 
couple of hours. I was there in an hour. 

Captain Bromley was not at home. I showed the card, 
and after a little parley I was taken down into the kitchen ; 
and now, being in the enemy’s camp, I began to look about 
me. 

There were four or five servants. Most of them were busy 
in the dining-room upstairs, or in the cooking department ; 
but one young woman had nothing better to do than to trot 
about gossiping with one and another, and showing off 
before me. She interested me. 

Her name was Esther. She was a tall, handsome girl, 
with narrow, roving eyes, but a prim, modest bearing, dressed 
very neatly, and very prettily at the same time — what the 
servant agents call “ a very superior-looking person ” — the 
sort of young person who gets too much attention from gen- 
tlemen, and usually gives up service after a short experience 
to go on the stage as a chorister. “ If anyone knows Cap- 
tain Bromley’s secrets,” said I to myself, “ you do.” 

She pretended to take no notice of me, but I saw she was 
showing off on my account ; for these girls are like hawks : 
they will fly at any game, and nothing is too small for them. 
I drew her on by feigning indifference. She came bustling 
up to look for something (which of course she never, found) 
in the dresser-drawer near me ; while she was there she said 
carelessly : 

“ I suppose you have come after a situation ? ” 

“ No,” said I ; “ I’ve a good situation in the country.” 

“ What as ? ” 

“ Doctor’s assistant — laboratory work.” 

“ What’s your master’s name ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ Dr. Norman.” 

She bent over the drawer, and lowering her voice, asked 
if I had come with Mrs. Norman. 

“ Half-way,” I replied. 

Without moving her head, she turned her sly eyes towards 
the servant who had just come into the kitchen, and pursed 
up her lips as a signal to be discreet and not talk too loud. 

“ What do you mean by ‘ half-way ’ ? ” she asked, in a low 
tone. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


139 

“ Mrs. Norman’s gone back,” I replied, in the same tone. 

“ Gone back — with Captain Bromley ? ” 

“ No, with her husband. He stopped her half-way.” 

I watched her face closely. I expected to see her pleased ; 
but instead of that a look of irritation came over her coun- 
tenance. Evidently she was not jealous of Mrs. Norman. 
But why was she vexed at her not coming? 

“ Your governor’s pretty fond of her, ain’t he ?” I asked. 

She did not think fit to answer that question. Clearly it 
was one she had considered. 

“ I suppose Dr. Norman and Captain Bromley are not 
friends ? ” she said. 

“ They were — at least, they pretended to be. I don’t know 
how they will go on now. Is this Captain Bromley’s house ? ” 

She made no objection to answering that question. 

“ No ; this is Mrs. Bromley’s. Captain Bromley has only 
been staying here since she had the attack,” she said ; and 
then she returned to the former subject, asking questions 
about Dr. Norman and his wife, their character, looks, etc., 
and when she had learnt all I was willing she should know, 
she left me. 

I saw that she had got hold of a secret, though what it 
was I could not make out. It had nothing to do with the 
affair I was after, for she showed no interest in talking of 
Captain Bromley, but kept harping on Mrs. Norman. 

It was obvious that she had not yet decided what use to 
make of her discovery, and was feeling about, as it were, to 
find which course it would be best to take. I did not attach 
much importance to this matter. In every household there 
are secrets, and the women-servants almost invariably get 
hold of them. But although women are unequalled in ferret- 
ing out secrets by eavesdropping, and skilfully joining odds 
and ends, overhearing small talk, prying into drawers, open- 
ing letters, and so forth, they very rarely have sense enough 
to turn their discoveries to advantage. They are like a 
young beginner at pocket-picking, who gets hold of a watch, 
and can’t for the life of him tell what to do with it. They 
have no constructive ability, that’s the fact ; and their actions 
are governed by temper. I have known women in a moment 
of passion, and just to gratify a transient feeling of spite, 
blab out a secret acquired with the utmost patience ‘and in- 
genuity, and which, properly employed, might have brought 


140 


FOUND GUILTY. 


them in hundreds of pounds. I set this young woman down 
in my mind as no better than the rest ; but I determined not 
to lose sight of her, and if possible to find out all she knew ; 
for one secret always involves another, and you may some- 
times come upon the horse you are looking for, so to speak, 
in running after the cart it’s harnessed to. 

I had no chance, however, of making any further pursuit 
in that direction then ; Captain Bromley coming in, I was 
called upstairs to meet him. He asked me many questions 
relative to Mrs. Norman, and the events preceding her flight, 
all of which I answered as truthfully as was necessary ; and 
then he dismissed me, telling me to call the morning after 
the next at eleven o’clock. 

At ten o’clock on Thursday I rang the servants’ bell at 
Fairlawn, thinking it was not amiss to be early. As I 
hoped, Esther opened the gate, and I could not but admire 
her as she came down from the house with her elegant figure, 
her smart dress and the demure air on her pretty face. See- 
ing me she smiled, without parting her pursed-up lips, and 
with her expressive sly eyes gave me to understand that we 
could be seen from the house. 

“ Captain Bromley is at breakfast,” said she, “ but you can ■ 
come in and sit down in the hall. I want to speak to you.” 

She led the way into the house as sedate as a Quakeress. 

When I was seated in the hall, she took a feather-brush, 
went to the head of the kitchen stairs, cast an eye down a 
passage leading from the hall, and came towards me dusting 
the plates and ornaments hung on the wall. When she was, 
near enough to speak in a low tone without being heard ex- 
cept by me, she said : 

“ I am going out this evening ; have you anything to do ? ” 

“ That depends upon your master,” said I, in a low tone. 

“ He won’t want you after this morning.” 

“ In that case I shall have no engagement this evening.” 

At this moment a bell sounded, and she left me with a 
look of vexation, went down the passage leading from the 
hall, and opened a door. Then I heard Captain Bromley 
say : 

“ Send Peters to me.” 

She returned, beckoned me, and I went into the breakfast- 
room, where Captain Bromley was sitting. The window 
looked on the carriage drive, and he had seen me. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


141 

“ I wish you to take this letter,” said he, closing a letter he 
had just written. “ That is the address,” he added, handing 
the letter to me after blotting the writing on it. 

“Yes, sir,” said I, reading the address — E. Grote, Esq., 
Pelham Chambers, Victoria Street ; and then I put it in my 
pocket, where I slipped my finger under the freshly-closed 
flap and disengaged it. “ May I make so bold, sir, as to ask 
if you have heard from Mrs. Norman ? ” 

1 asked this question feeling sure that he had spent the 
preceding day in trying to get Mrs. Norman out of her 
husband’s hands, and it was important I should know the 
result. 

“ Mrs. Norman is at the Moat,” he answered. 

“ She has got better of her fright, I hope .? ” 

“ I believe so,” he replied. 

This made it clear that he had tried and failed to with- . 
draw her, and that he had not even been allowed to see her. 

“ It is with reference to Mrs. Norman that I am sending 
you to Mr. Grote now. He wishes to hear from you the 
particulars you gave me the day before yesterday. You 
have money ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; I have not spent half of the sovereign you 
were so good as to give me.” 

“ I shall see you again at Mr. Grote’s chambers. By-the- 
by,” he added, as I was about to leave the room, “ how was 
it you came to make that extraordinary statement to Pro- 
fessor Schlobach concerning me ? You told him, I believe, 
that you saw me in conversation with Mrs. Norman at the 
Moat at twelve o’clock on the night she left.” 

“ Wasn’t it you, sir ” I asked innocently. 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Then it must have been Martha, sir. I could only just 
see two figures in the shadow as I looked out of the labora- 
tory window, and knowing you were at Faulcondale in the 
afternoon, I made sure it must be you. No offence, I hope, 
sir ? ” 

“ Oh no,” he answered lightly ; “ but you would do well to 
be more careful in future.” 

Captain Bromley’s feelings were always betrayed by the 
expression of his face and voice ; and I judged by them now 
that my attempt to create a breach between him and Miss 
Howard had failed, or been patched up. 


142 


FOUND GUILTY. 


As I went through the hall Esther accompanied me to the 
door. 

“ I shall be in the waiting-room of the Putney station at 
eight o’clock to-night,” she whispered. 

“ So shall I,” said I, touching her pretty soft hand as it 
held the door. She nodded, smiled, and shot me through 
with her dark, narrow eyes. “ I shall have to be on my guard 
with that young lady,” said I to myself. 

The letter I had to give to Mr. Grote was scarcely worth 
the opening ; it simply introduced the “ bearer ” as the lad 
who had tried to save Mrs. Norman, and might be “ an im- 
portant witness on our side ” ; but it prepared me to meet the 
lawyer, and intimated that an attempt was to be made to ob- 
tain a legal separation of Mrs. Norman from her husband. 

I got to Pelham Chambers shortly after eleven, and found 
Mr. Grote’s office very dilferent to my old master’s, Mr. Gar- 
dener’s ; they looked more like a gentleman’s private rooms 
than a lawyer’s chambers, nor was Mr. Grote less unlike Mr. 
Gardener ; but I knew him at once for a lawyer. 

He was a stout elderly gentleman, with white hair, and a 
full, rather florid face, clean shaved, and might have passed 
for a well-to-do country squire ; but there was no mistaking 
his quick gray eyes : they were a lawyer’s, and such as I have 
never seen except in a lawyer’s head. 

He had Captain Bromley’s letter before him, which the 
gentlemanly clerk in the outer room had taken from me, and 
he looked at me carefully, as if to judge by my appearance 
how I was to be tackled. He adopted the genial, open, can- 
did style. 

“ Well, my good fellow,” said he cheerfully, “ I hear you 
have shown considerable shrewdness, tact, and courage m 
attempting to rescue Mrs. Norman from a perilous position. 
I conclude it must have been perilous, or you would not have 
risked so much in her behalf. Now, there is no occasion to 
make any mystery of this case. We have reason to believe 
that Mrs. Norman has been cruelly treated by her husband ; 
if we have sufficient evidence to support that belief, we shall 
take the case into court ; if not, that course must be aban- 
doned. In either event your services will be paid for, you 
understand. But as it is of the very first importance that our 
evidence shall be reliable, I must urge upon you the neces- 
sity of exaggerating nothing, reserving' nothing, and telling 


FOUND GUILTY. 


143 


only those facts which have come under your own observa^ 
tion ; not only for the sake of this poor lady, whose suffer- 
ings have awakened your generous sympathy, but also with 
regard to your own personal advantage. Now then, let me 
hear all you have to say.” 

I told him as much as I wished him to know, being very 
careful of my statements, for I saw that this stout old gentle- 
man was sharp enough to catch me up in any discrepancy, 
and when I had come to the end, and he had praised me 
warmly for my straightforward and honest statement, he pro- 
ceeded to cross-examine me as if every word I had uttered 
was a lie. But I managed to hold my own without being 
tricked into an admission that would falsify my previous 
statement. 

He had come pretty nearly to the end of his game when 
Captain Bromley arrived. 

I was sent into an outer office while they discussed, and 
much I regretted that these were not Mr. Gardener’s offices, 
where I might have overheard all they had to say about me. 
When I was called in again. Captain Bromley was standing 
looking out of the window. 

“We have no further need of you at present,” said Mr. 
Grote ; “ but we may have before long, so you will let us 
know where you are to be found. Captain Bromley wishes 
you to accept this check as a recompense for the loss of your 
situation, and a reward for your services to Mrs. Norman.” 

“ I don’t wish to be rewarded, sir,” said I ; “ I only wish 
to obtain another situation, and if Captain Bromley can give 
me employment it is all I want.” 

Captain Bromley shook his head, and, turning, said : 

“ No, Peters, I can’t do that.” 

“ No,” added Mr. Grote, “ that is impracticable ; but we will 
try and find a suitable place for you. In the meanwhile you 
can live very comfortably on this.” He handed me a check, 
which was for fifty pounds, and after I had expressed my 
gratitude and a few more instructions had been given me 
relative to forwarding my address, I left Pelham Chambers 
very well content with myself, albeit I had failed in many 
things, and seemed as far as ever from recovering the stolen 
letter. 

The first thing I did was to change the check, and next 
I bought a complete suit of gentlemanly clothes ; for though 


144 


FOUND GUILTY. 


my ruling passion was criminal investigation, I was not 
above the weakness of youth, and must admit that I was 
smitten by Esther, notwithstanding a very strong suspicion 
that her amiable glances were due to a selfish desire to get at 
my secret. 

That young lady hardly knew me when I took off my hat 
to her in the waiting-room of the Putney station. She thrilled 
me with a glance of approval, and when we left the station 
was not ashamed to take my arm, though she herself was 
dressed like a lady and looked extremely genteel. We talked 
upon general subjects for a time, but at length she worked 
round to business, and asked me point-blank what had taken 
place at the lawyer’s. And now I saw that I must get the 
nonsense out of my head and look out for myself. Her 
object was to discover my secret ; mine was to find out hers. 

“ How do you know that I went to a lawyer’s ? ” I asked. 

“That is not an answer to my question,” said she. 

“ Well,” said I, “ the most important part of the affair was, 
that the lawyer gave me a check for fifty pounds.” 

“ They gave you fifty pounds to hold your tongue ! ” she 
exclaimed in surprise. 

“ And not too much neither,” said I, hoping to draw 
her on. 

“ No,” said she reflectively ; “ I suppose they would give 
twice as much as that to keep it hushed up.” 

Although this observation about hushing it up gave me 
no little surprise, I concealed the feeling, and answered at 
once : 

“Twice as much ! I mean to have ten times as much — 
twenty times as much before I’ve done with it.” 

“ How ^ ” she askedj after looking at me sidelong with a 
good deal of interest. 

“ Ah ! now you’re asking too much,” said I, laughing. 

“ Oh, I daresay you are not more clever than other peo- 
ple,” said she, piqued, and in a tone of contempt. “ I sup- 
pose you threatened to tell who this Mrs. Norman was ? ” 

Now, this at once let me into the nature of her secret, and 
convinced me that her knowledge had nothing to do with the 
stolen letter. 

“ I’ve no doubt I shall be able to get fifty pounds as easily 
as you have,” she continued. 

“ That depends upon how you go about it. If you think 


FOUND GUILTY. 


^45 


you can levy black-mail upon such people as Captain Brom- 
ley and his lawyer you’re very much mistaken. If you’re 
wise you won’t do anything of that sort. Look how silly it 
is. If I had said this morning, ‘ Now then, give me fifty 
pounds, or I’ll tell all I know,’ do you think I should have 
got it No. They’d have sent me about my business with- 
out a penny-piece. And what could I have done then 1 
Nothing. It would do me no good to betray Mrs. Norman; 
it would only make it impossible for me to get a situation or 
do any good for myself. It would be sheer madness to do 
that — ruinous madness, only fit for a silly school-girl to 
indulge in.” 

She seemed to see the force of this argument ; she said 
nothing for some minutes, and when she did speak it was in 
a less disdainful tone. 

“ I can’t tell how you did it,” she said. 

“ No ; but you shall one of these days, when we are better 
acquainted.” 

“ Aren’t we good friends now ? ” she said coaxingly, with a 
little squeeze at my arm. 

There was a little nonsense, and then she said : 

“ Now, won’t you tell me ? ” 

It was the old story of Samson and Delilah. 

“ Well,” said I, weakened, but not yet quite a fool, “ I got 
fifty pounds for being kind to Mrs. Norman and then I 
told her how I had tried to save her from the doctor. 

“ I know all that,” said she, ‘still perplexed. Then after a 
moment’s reflection she cried, “ I see now how you did it. 
You did this service for Mrs. Norman to give them an 
excuse for paying you a sum of money, but you took care 
beforehand to let them know that you had found out who 
she was.” 

“ No,” said I, anxious to prevent her spoiling my game ; 
“ I tell you if they suspected that I was levying blackmail 
they would have nothing more to do with me. They are at 
liberty to imagine what they like.” 

“You are very artful.” 

“ Well, we must live ; and I don’t mean to be a servant 
all my life.” 

“ Nor I either.” She took time to make a mental calcula- 
tion ; then she said, “ Do you think you can make ten 
thousand pounds ? ” 

lO 


146 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ I am sure of it.” 

“ What are you going to do next ? ” 

“ Anything that may be of service to Mrs. Norman.” 

After walking some minutes in silence she said : 

“ As our secret wouldn’t be worth anything if it were known 
to all the world, I think it would pay us both to go partners 
in it.” 

“ I dare say you do, but I don’t,” said I, with a laugh ; 
“ for though you could do me a good deal of injury by letting 
the cat out of the bag, you would not do yourself a bit of 
good. And as I have to do all the work ” 

“ Oh, I’m ready to do my share,” she said eagerly. 

“ What could you do ? ” I asked. 

She had no plan ready — what woman ever has ? — but she 
knew where her strength lay, so she pressed my arm again, 
and said submissively : 

“ Whatever you think advisable.” 

“ Could you tell me what goes on in the house at Faulcon- 
dale ? ” 

“ I can tell you everything that is said in Mrs. Bromley’s 
room. That is how I came to hear about Mrs. Norman. 
After the attack, when she thought she was dying, she made 
Mr. Valentine give a sacred promise never to reveal to any- 
one about Mrs. Norman. I can hear everything.” 

“ Then you can tell me what was the result of Captain 
Bromley’s interview with Mr. Grote this morning, for, of 
course, he told his mother } ” 

“ Yes ; the lawyer says it will be impossible to obtain a 
legal separation. Your evidence does not prove cruelty on 
Dr. Norman’s part, but, only necessary severity towards a 
person of weak mind, and the only other witness they could 
produce. Dr. Bullen, would damage the case, for he himself 
was under the impression that Mrs. Norman was losing her 
reason. And he said that it was Mr. Grote’s opinion that Dr. 
Norman was courting a legal inquiry to justify himself against 
the charge of cruelty in case his treatment may lead Mrs. 
Norman to self-destruction.” 

“ Anything else ? ” 

“Yes; he said that nothing whatever could be done until 
they knew what attitude Mrs. Norman would take. They 
must get a written, or at least a verbal, statement from her 
that she goes in fear of her husband.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


147 

“Good,” said I; “that’s something; for now we know 
how the next fifty is to be got.” 

“ How.?” 

“ By putting Mrs. Norman in communication with her 
friends.” 

“ But Dr. Norman, I heard yesterday, forbids anyone to 
enter the house. He says that since Captain Bromley has 
shown his intention of removing Mrs. Norman from the 
Moat, all further correspondence between them must cease.” 

“ Do you think I care for that ? ” I cried ; “ let Dr. Norman 
do what he pleases. I’ll speak to Mrs. Norman under his 
roof before the end of the week.” 

And here my blood was fired by Dr. Norman’s observa- 
tion in passing me : 

“You are a blundering, conceited idiot.” 

Esther looked at me with admiration, and pressing a little 
closer to my shoulder, said, in her pretty, coaxing manner : 

“ You see, I can do something.” 

“ Yes,” said I, well warmed up, “ and if you only do as I 
tell you you shall share all I make out of his job — hence- 
forth.” 

Indeed, I began to feel sincere admiration for this hand- 
some girl, especially when I discovered the means by which 
she overheard what passed in Mrs. Bromley’s room. 

Esther’s room was directly above Mrs. Bromley’s. At one 
time there had been a gasalier hanging from a medallion in 
the centre of Mrs. Bromley’s chamber. She objected to gas, 
and had it taken down. The piping serving the gasalier 
passed between the ceiling of the lower room and the floor 
of the upper. To cut off the gas a short length of floor-board 
in Esther’s room had been taken up. This had never been 
properly secured. And one day Esther, raising it with a pair 
of scissors, discovered the brass fitting into which the gasalier 
had been screwed stopped with a cork. Taking the cork 
out and bending down, she heard distinctly the voices of 
Mrs. Bromley and her son. Since then she had repeated 
the experiment many times, and to her great advantage, as 
was now proved. 

We parted in the most amiable manner, agreeing to meet 
the next evening. 

I looked forward to this meeting with real pleasure, not 
only because Esther was a very nice girl, but because I rec- 


148 


FOUND GUILTY. 


ognized the importance of her communication and the 
enormous advantage of her co-operation. 

I determined, however, not to let my sentiments overcome 
my prudence, nor to let her know the real object I had in 
view. For a secret is never safe in the keeping of the best 
of women, and I was not yet sure that Esther was even that ; 
my intention was to learn all she knew and keep her under 
the delusion that my secret and hers were identical. I had 
already a very strong suspicion of the nature of her secret, 
though she had not directly avowed it ; but I had been careful 
not to question her upon it, nor to show my curiosity, lest she 
should find that we had been playing at cross purposes, and 
that the object of my pursuit had, so far as I could then see, 
no connection with the fact she had discovered. 

How closely the two things were allied I now perceived, 
and I was struck with astonishment at my own shortsighted- 
ness, for it needed but a confirmation of my suspicions with 
regard to the fact ascertained by her to entirely overthrow 
my preconceived notions, and necessitate a new departure 
in accordance with the altered position in which the affair 
now presented itself. 

As I had expected, Esther, in our second interview, thrown 
entirely off her guard by the belief that I knew the main 
points of the case, let me know all concerning the promise 
exacted by Mrs. Bromley from her son with regard to Mrs. 
Norman ; and this confirming my suspicions, I resolved at 
once to begin the new attack. 

“ I shall leave London to-morrow,” said I. 

“ So soon ? ” said Esther in a tone of tender regret. 

“Yes,” said I ; “for though you have shed anew light 
upon my life, business must be attended to.” 

She acquiesced with a sigh, and then in a less romantic 
key she asked what I proposed to do. 

“ First of all,” said I, “ Mrs. Norman must be saved.” 

“ That is very true, for if she were to die we could never 
make a penny out of our knowledge. And how shall you do 
that ? ” 

“ If we can get a letter from her declaring that she goes 
in fear of her life, the lawyers may succeed in obtaining a 
separation. That would answer our purpose exactly. If 
she refuses to write such a letter, then means must be found 
to get her away from the Moat.” 


FOUND GUILTY, 


149 


“ Do you believe that her husband intends to kill her ? ” 

“ Not in a direct way ; but I’m sure the lawyer was right, 
and that he is trying to make her destroy herself.” 

“ Mr. Valentine does not believe that.” 

“Why not.?” 

“ He says that the gain is too small for a man with his 
calculating mind to incur a risk. While his wife lives he 
takes interest on her fortune ; all he could get at her death 
would be the principal.” 

This made me chuckle, and I said to myself : 

“ No ; a man with Dr. Norman’s prudence and foresight 
would not risk the loss of reputation for a few miserable 
thousands, but for a quarter of a million ! that would be 
game worth flying at.” 

“ What are you smiling at ? ” asked Esther caressingly. 

“ I was thinking that Dr. Norman doesn’t want his wife, 
and does want a lump sum down most likely,” I replied. 

We then agreed to write to each other, she promising to 
let nothing escape her, and we parted more amiably than 
before. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

The next morning I went to the General Post Office, and 
on inquiry found that Mr. Richard Everleigh still held an 
appointment there. This was satisfactory; for it was 
entirely at variance with the story of his going abroad with 
his brother told me by Eliza. Following the directions given 
me, I at length reached the office in that department of which 
Mr. Everleigh was sub-director. He rose from his desk, and 
came to the little counter where I stood. 

He was a well-dressed gentleman, a little older than Dr. 
Norman but not unlike him in certain respects, having a close- 
cut black beard and a Jewish nose. I looked with some anx- 
iety for some striking characteristic which might distinguish 
the two gentlemen ; I only found it when he talked ; he spoke 
with a lisp. That was enough. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


150 

“ If you please, sir,” said I, standing with my hat in my 
hand, “ Professor Schlobach told me to give you his compli- 
ments, and ask if you would be good enough to tell me where 
Ward’s the naturalist’s, is ? ” 

“ Profethor Thlobach ? ” he said in perplexity. 

“ Yes, sir. Professor Schlobach ; and Miss Howard sent 
her compliments likewise.” 

“ Very good, I’m thure,” said he, smiling. “ But I have 
not the leatht notion who Mith Howard and Profethor Thlo- 
bach are.” 

“ They live at Faulcondale, sir.” 

“ And where ith Faulcondale ? ” 

“ Close to Beauchamp Moat. 

“ I think I’ve heard of Beauchamp Moat.” 

“ Dr. Norman’s place, sir.” 

I know Dr. Norman, but I have not the leatht acquaint- 
anth with Profethor Thlobach,” said he, and then he put sev- 
eral questions to me ; but as I had learnt all I wanted, and 
was only anxious to get away, I said I must have made a 
mistake, begged his pardon, and left the office as quickly as 
I could. 

From St. Martin’s-le-Grand I went to Westminster, where 
I called upon Mr. Grote, and asked him if he had any further 
need of me. On replying that there was no immediate re- 
quirement of my services, I told him I was going into the 
country to see if I could get employment in the neighbor- 
hood of Beauchamp Moat, as I was engaged to a young wo- 
man living in that part, and that letters sent to the Post-office, 
Faulcondale, would find me. 

He took down the address, and I left him. 

I had just time for a bit of dinner before taking the train 
to Barstow, where I arrived a little after six in the evening. 
There seemed but little chance of my seeing Eliza that day ; 
but my fortune had taken a favorable turn, and as I was sit- 
ting down to rest myself, midway between Barstow and Faul- 
condale, I caught sight of my rustic beauty coming along the 
road, with a face as red as the poppies in her bonnet, her best 
skirt tucked up with nothing but the glazed lining and a dan- 
gling pocket to be seen, her cotton gloves on, a big basket 
on one arm, and in her other hand the large alpaca umbrella 
vvithout which she never would go out in her Sunday clothes, 
no matter how clear the sky. She was trudging manfully. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


with a step as firm as a ploughboy’s ; her eyes were fixed in- 
tently on the distance, and her mouth as usual was well open, 
her scarlet face was beaded with perspiration, and she looked 
as if she were walking against time for a wager. 

But she was only returning from a day’s pleasure, spent 
with her sister, who lived at Barstow with a drunken husband 
and nine children. She was a picture of health : but as I 
compared her with the elegant girl I had left in London, I 
admit I felt less anxious to possess her affections than I had 
been. Nevertheless, I gave her a good sounding kiss, which 
she returned with apparently a great deal of satisfaction. 

We trudged along, chatting upon one thing and another, 
for some time, and then, as if in fun, I assumed a lisp like 
Mr. Everleigh’s, which so tickled the simple girl that she had 
to set down her basket in the road and hold her sides until 
her laughter subsided. 

“ That’s how Mr. Everleigh used to talk, isn’t it ? ” I asked. 

“ Lor’, no,” she replied ; “ I shouldn’t never been able to 
hold myself straight for laughing at him if he talked like that.” 

I tried to get a description of him from her, but her intel- 
ligence was not equal to that. However, by putting questions 
which only required yes and no for answer, I found that in 
age and appearance he could not be unlike Dr. Norman, and 
that was what I wanted to know. 

In my own mind there was no longer any doubt about his 
identity : the evidence seemed to me conclusive that the man 
calling himself Mr. Everleigh, who had been guardedly paying 
his addresses to Miss Howard before the accident which 
made Captain Bromley a constant visitor at the old farm, was 
none other than Dr. Norman, of Beauchamp Moat : 

My theory of the case was this : Dr. Norman had married 
to get out of difficulties. He was tired of his wife. But he 
had not lost his taste for female society. That was shown 
by letters and photographs I found amongst his private 
papers, and his occasional visits to London. He had seen 
Miss Howard on his way to Barstow, probably, and, struck 
by her beauty, had argued that he might just as well amuse 
himself at Faulcondale as at London. Circumstances 
favored the enterprise. 

He was absolutely unknown. He had never been seen in 
the Moat or out of it by anyone nearer than Barstow, ten 
miles off, and they were ignorant of his name and residence 


152 


FOUND GUILTY. 


by reason of Martha being deaf and dumb. He might have 
passed through Faulcondale in the hooded gig for a dozen 
years without being recognized. He had found out Miss 
Howard’s name, and the hobby of her guardian. His 
scientific knowledge was sufficiently extended to enable him 
to assume the character of a naturalist, in which character 
he had introduced himself, taking the name of a friend to 
whom he bore some personal resemblance as a further safe- 
guard against discovery. Forced to retire by the approach 
of Captain Bromley, he had purloined the letter for future 
use, and then, to avert suspicion from an inquiry into Mr. 
Everleigh’s relations, threatened by my letter to Professor 
Schlobach, he had taken the bold step (which I now could 
not too much admire) of bringing me into close communica- 
tion with himself and adroitly throwing suspicion upon Cap- 
tain Bromley. He had watched me more narrowly than I 
had suspected, and anticipating my search for the letter, had 
concealed the envelope where I should be sure to find it, but 
where it might have lain for years without being discovered 
by Captain Bromley. The contents of that envelope had 
never gone out of his possession. But to use that letter it 
was necessary to get Captain Bromley out of the way cer- 
tainly, and his wife also, unless he jeopardized his future by 
committing bigamy. He had hoped that, by throwing Mrs. 
Norman and Captain Bromley together, an elopement might 
ensue, which would effectually prevent further intercourse 
between Captain Bromley and Miss Howard, and at the same 
time enable him to get a divorce, which would make his mar- 
riage with the young heiress legal. That plan had been 
frustrated, and he now sought, as Mr. Grote suggested, to 
drive his wife to self-destruction. It was reasonable to con- 
jecture that in the inquiry which would follow her death, he 
would contrive to bring into evidence his wife’s relations with 
Captain Bromley, throwing such reflections on his character 
as would estrange him from Miss Howard, and leave her 
once more open to receive Norman’s addresses. 

This was my theory, and the closer I examined it the more 
convinced I became that it was a true one. 

There was no time to lose. It was a race between love 
and death, and the stake was Miss Howard’s hand and a 
quarter of a million of money. Who would win.-* Not Dr. 
Norman if I could help it. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


153 


I was impatient to begin, but, knowing now the character 
of the man with whom I had to contend, I saw the necessity 
of being prudent. I did not want him to know that I had 
changed my tactics. I wished him to retain the impression 
that 1 was a “ blundering idiot ” for the present. The knowl- 
edge of my presence in that neighborhood would have 
aroused his suspicions, but I felt that I was tolerably safe at 
the ale-house at Faulcondale, where I took up my quarters. 
For neither he nor Martha held any communication with the 
people outside the Moat. Day after day I stayed within 
doors watching the road from the window of my room, in the 
hope that I should see the hooded gig pass in the direction 
of Barstow. 

On the third day I found a letter at the post-office : it was 
from Esther Norton. She wrote very nicely and in a most 
agreeable tone, but the most important part of her communi- 
cation was the copy of a letter received by Mrs. Bromley 
from Mrs. Norman. Esther had underlined these passages : 

“ How ungrateful and heartless must I seem to you, who 
have ever been so considerate arxi indulgent to me ! And 
at this time, too, when I should endeavor to comfort you 
and lessen your sufferings. I do not know how to excuse 
myself — indeed, now that I am calm, my past actions seem 
utterly inexcusable. ... I can only plead that I was not 
master of my actions, and a slave to the terrors of my own 
imagination. ... I am sure my husband’s treatment has 
been regulated solely by a consideration for my welfare, and 
that the seclusion in which he has thought fit to keep me 
was necessitated by my mad suspicions and wicked caprices. 
I see that all, now my mind is growing healthier. ... I 
shall try to atone for my faults to him and to you by doing 
my duty, and abiding by the rules which may prevent a 
return of my disorder.” 

Miss Norton concluded her letter with these words : 

“ Tell me, dear Mr. Peters, what you think of the enclosed 
letter.” 

I told her when I replied what I firmly believed, that the 
letter would never have been suffered to go to the post if it 
had been written in other terms, and Mrs. Norman, knowing 
that, had adopted the only means left her of trying to 
relieve her friends’ minds of the anxiety her fate must have 
created. 


154 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ But,” I added, “ I will soon ascertain the truth. In the 
meantime, my dear Miss Norton, use all your endeavors to 
promote a speedy marriage between Captain Bromley and 
Miss Howard. The reasons for making this urgently 
necessary I will hereafter explain.” 

Two days later I received another letter from Esther, in 
which she said : 

“ I cannot imagine why the marriage of Miss Howard 
with Captain Bromley is so important to our interests ; but 
I have so much confidence in you, dear Mr. Peters, that I 
shall do my utmost in that direction. 

“ I have no doubt I shall be able to do something, for 
Mrs. Bromley is a little better, and very easily managed, 
and I have many opportunities of talking to her. I shall 
hint that Captain Bromley seems low-spirited, and that it 
would be a good thing if he were to marry, so that his wife 
might live in the same house to be a comfort to him, and 
keep the servants, especially the cook, in order, who take 
advantage of their mistress’s illness to turn the house upside, 
down, neglect their duties, etc.” 

This letter was very encouraging, and I congratulated my- 
self on having made such a valuable ally ; but my forced 
inaction was growing intolerable, and on the fifth day I 
resolved that I must abandon the hope of Dr. Norman leav- 
ing the Moat, and run the risk of being discovered by him in 
my attack. 

I had already considered how that attack was to be made. 
The first means that presented itself was to communicate 
with Mrs. Norman through Martha, but that course was very 
difficult, and very dangerous as well. I could not approach 
the Moat by day, for fear of being seen by the doctor ; and 
she being deaf and dumb, it would be next to impossible to 
attract her attention by night, or make her understand what 
I wanted if I could. Then I was not sure of Martha’s co- 
operation, for although I had kept on good terms with her, 
I had never thought it worth while to make love to her — an 
omission for which I now reproached myself. The girl, like 
most deaf-mutes, was extremely obstinate in her persuasions ; 
I was aware that she had an unbounded esteem for Dr. Nor- 
man, and I was not so sure of her respect for me. If Dr. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


55 


Norman had been sufficiently wise to direct her suspicions 
against me, I knew that any attempt on my part to win her 
help would only provoke her obstruction. 

The only alternative was to make a direct communication 
with Mrs. Norman ; and this course I resolved to take. 

I paid my score, and left the ale-house in the evening ; it 
was dark by the time I got near the Moat. I slept in the 
pine woods until the chill air woke me, then I walked about 
waiting for dawn. 

I made my way to the Moat while it was yet too dark to 
distinguish anything but the outline of the house. But I 
knew the ground, and, skirting the ditch, I came to the 
wicket on the bridge. As I put my hand on the latch to see 
if it were fastened — rather from curiosity than from any 
practical good its being open might afford me — I heard a 
short, sharp growl, a rattle of a chain under the gateway, 
and then the furious barking of a dog, who threw his paws 
upon the gate as I withdrew my hands, nearly scaring me 
out of my wits. Happily his chain would not permit him to 
go farther, so I got off cheaply. But it reminded me once 
more of the caution I needed to employ in coping with a 
man of such foresight as Dr. Norman. I retreated into the 
woods, and waited there for the best part of an hour, when a 
faint gray light from the clouded sky threw the branches out 
in relief. The dog had not ceased to bark at lengthening 
intervals, but this was reassuring, for either he would have 
barked more furiously had anyone come down to the gate- 
way, or stopped barking had he been set free. And as he 
did neither the one nor the other, it was a fair sign that Dr. 
Norman disregarded the commotion. Still, it was not with- 
out fear that I again drew near the house. I approached it 
this time on the north side. There were no windows on the 
outer side of the laboratory except the two round ones over 
the shelf of bottles — none from which I could be seen unless 
an observer were posted at the one which opened into my 
old sleeping-room. It was this latter window which now 
concerned me. I had made my exit and entrance by it once, 
and I wished to see if it might not be done again. 

The piece of timber which had served me in place of a 
ladder was gone from the ditch, and for this and other rea- 
sons I gave up that side of the building as impracticable. I 
had more hopes of getting in on the east side — that part of 


FOUND GUILTY. 


156 

the house which had been abandoned — and standing on the 
outer edge of the moat, I scanned the building to find the 
safest means. 

The wall sprang from the bottom of the moat, the upper 
story overhanging. An enormous growth of ivy covered the 
whole side, and mounted the naked timbers of the roof, the 
main stems lying against the wall like ropes as thick as a 
man’s arm. The sashes were gone from the casements in 
the upper story. On the lower story there were four win- 
dows, all furnished with iron bars. On a level with the 
opposite edge of the moat was a door ; at one time there 
had been a wooden bridge across the ditch ; the crumbling 
brickwork that supported it was all that remained. The 
simplest way of getting in seemed to climb by the ivy, but I 
knew enough of that brittle and treacherous growth to reject 
this notion. Then it looked tolerably easy to throw a line, 
with a stout hook at the end, into one of the upper windows ; 
but supposing the hook caught all right upon the sill, there 
was the risk of the rotten wood giving way as soon as my 
weight told on it. The windows on the lower floor, being ten 
feet from the bottom of the moat, and barred as well, were 
almost as impracticable as the window of my old sleeping- 
room. After all, the door most took my fancy, for the brick- 
work of the bridge was only a little below the lintel, and 
afforded a standing-place where one might get at the lock ; 
so I slipped into the ditch, scrambled up on the brickwork, 
and gently tried the door. To my disgust, I found it was 
secured, not by a lock which might be picked, but by bolts 
on the inside top and bottom, which there was no getting at. 
I once more explored the whole side of the building, and 
finally came to the conclusion that I must try the upper win- 
dows, and trust to my luck and the firmness of the sill to get 
into the house and not break my bones in the attempt. 

The light was now strong enough to reveal objects at a 
dozen yards distinctly. Comparing one window with the 
other, I settled which was the most reliable, calculated the 
length of cord I should require, and the size of hook ; then 
I went up into the wood, and walked off to Lipley. There, 
after I had breakfasted, I found a smith, who forged me a 
three-pronged hook like a grappling-iron, with an eye in the 
haft. Then I bought fifteen yards of stout cord, half-a- 
quartern loaf, a piece of cheese, and a couple of bottles of 


FOUND GUILTY. 


157 


ale, a pair of pincers, and a small hand fret-saw, a dark lan- 
tern, a gimlet, and a second-hand carpet-bag, into which I 
contrived to pack all my other purchases. I slept in the 
afternoon, and left Lipley when it was getting dusk ; it was 
dark when I neared Beauchamp Moat. I kept clear of the 
front of the house, and came down through the woods upon 
the north side. A faint light, gleaming from the two round 
windows of the laboratory, showed me that Dr. Norman was 
there. I went up into the wood, lit my lantern, and, setting 
it on the ground facing me, pulled out my hook and cord, 
and amused myself for a good hour in attaching the one to 
the other securely, and tying double knots in the cord at in- 
tervals. of a foot from end to end. This done, I put the 
apparatus back into the bag, blew out the light, and once 
more reconnoitred the house. 

The light was gone from the laboratory. Keeping at a 
good distance and stepping lightly, I ventured to the front, 
and seeing no light either in the sitting-room or the kitchen 
windows, I concluded that the household had retired for the 
night. But I lingered in the woods for another hour before 
setting to work. 

The clouds which had overhung the sky for the last two 
days had broken up that evening, and now, from time to 
time, I got a glimpse of the new moon. It was not full 
enough to give perceptible light, but it rendered the night 
less dark than I had found it before ; so that standing on 
the edge of the moat I could see clearly enough the dark 
openings of the upper windows. I had approached stealthily, 
and the watch dog was quiet. 

1 got out my grapnel, coiled the rope, and then, after bal- 
ancing it carefully in my hand, flung up the hook, which, by 
good fortune, fell fairly inside of the window, and dropped 
with a thud upon the floor. I pulled it gently until it re- 
sisted my efforts, and this part of the business being done 
satisfactorily, I put the lantern in my pocket and slipped into 
the ditch. 

The cord was more than sufficiently long. I gave it a 
strong, steady pull to test its security, and then set myself to 
climb up hand over hand. 

As the upper story overhung the lower by a couple of feet, 
I no sooner got off the ground than I began to turn round 
and round like a joint on a meat-jack. However, this was 


FOUND GUILTY. 


158 

but a trifle, though it caused me to strike my head violently 
against a projecting beam, and I felt that I had reason to be 
thankful when at length I got my arms over the window-sill 
and drew myself up into a position of comparative safety. 
The ceiling was down, and I could see the stars through the 
gap in the roof above. I lit my lantern before leaving the 
sill, for I feared that the floor, rotten with exposure and age, 
would yield under my feet ; and well it was that I did so, 
for the boards were no firmer than brown paper, and I fancied 
that the joists bent under me as I carefully made my way 
along from one to the other. I got down the rotten stairs 
without serious accident, and, finding the door, drew back 
the rusty bolts and opened it ; then I jumped down into the 
ditch, fetched my carpet-bag from the other side, and getting 
into the house again, closed the door and felt rather proud 
of having achieved not the least hazardous part of my en- 
terprise. 

I had to make a journey upstairs for the rope I had left 
hanging from the window ; but that done, I resolved to go 
out and pass the rest of the night in the wood, for there was 
not a dry place to sit down upon within the house ; and the 
darkness, made more weird by the shaft of light from my 
lantern, together with the smell of mouldering wood, the 
moist and clammy atmosphere, the slimy growth upon the 
floor, and the silence, filled me with terror of I know not 
what, unless it was of the whole structure falling upon me 
and burying me alive. 

I put my bag in a corner, opened the door, blew out my 
light, and, slipping into the ditch, felt as if I had escaped 
from a tomb. 

I dozed under the pines until daybreak, when I returned 
to the house, and bolting the door behind me, set about 
exploring the ground floor as well as I could by the faint 
light that came through the ivy-hung windows. One of 
these looked on to the courtyard, and it was strange to look 
at the familiar wings from this new point of view. Directly 
in front of me was the gateway, and there I saw the newly 
placed dog-kennel. All the rest was as I had left it. Martha 
was not yet down. Everything was perfectly still and motion- 
less. 

One end of the ruined wing abutted upon the laboratory 
and my old sleeping-room, from which it was separated by its 


FOUND GUILTY. 


159 


own walls and doors and a stout partition of weather-boarding. 
The other end adjoined the wing devoted to stabling and 
coach-houses, with disused store-rooms and hay-lofts above. 
Here also the encroachment of decay had been arrested by 
strong carpentering. I knew the stables and lofts well, and 
the way of communication between the coach-house and the 
kitchen in the south wing. And it was by this side that I 
meant to get to Mrs. Norman, for the reason that whatever 
work was necessary to make an entry through the partition 
which cut off the ruined wing could be done without attracting 
attention, since the stables were only visited by Martha 
when the horse was to be fed or taken out, and it was too 
far removed from the habited part to reach even Dr. Norman’s 
sharp ear. 

For further security I resolved to attack the partition upon 
the floor where the corridor abutted upon a room above the 
stable, which, during my service with Dr. Norman, had been 
used as a straw-loft, and was visited by no one except when 
a fresh bundle of straw was wanted. 

I made a hearty breakfast of bread and cheese and beer, 
and then set to work. Driving my gimlet through the 
weather-boards in three places, I had the satisfaction of find- 
ing straw beyond. 

I examined the woodwork, and finding that I must cut the 
boards to get through, I chose the bottom two, and having 
made a hole with a gimlet and my pocket-knife, I got the end 
of my fret-saw in and began to cut, working slowly, and 
leaving off from time to time to listen and cast my eye round 
the court. Once I saw Martha come out by the door open- 
ing from the kitchen to shake the crumbs from a tablecloth, 
and go back again. Later on I saw Mrs. Norman. 

She was haggard and weary-looking, and sank into a seat 
as if she had not strength to go farther. I had never seen 
her so carelessly and unbecomingly dressed. She had 
brought a book with her, but it lay unopened in her lap from 
the time she came out until she went in again ; she sat with 
her chin on her breast in an attitude of dejection which 
nothing altered. She sat so motionless that some sparrows 
came down to take the crumbs Martha had thrown out : I 
thought she would cry to see them so blithe and free, but she 
was unmoved. When Martha came out and signed that 
lunch was served, she rose and followed her into the house 


i6o 


lOUND GUILTY. 


through the kitchen. The reason of her going that way, 
which perplexed me at first, I discovered later on. The ill- 
conditioned and ferocious dog under the gateway sprang 
out of his kennel and strained at his collar to get at those 
within as well as those without. Only when Dr. Norman 
approached, the beast hung his head and slunk terror-stricken 
into his kennel : yet he alone it was who fed the dog. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA HOWARD. 

I HAVE noticed that though I frequently used the whip to 
Coquelicot, whose stubborn perversity was at times most 
exasperating, I could never tolerate his punishment by any- 
one else; indeed, I sometimes lost my temper when my 
guardian, who is surely the most merciful of men, used the 
whip to overcome the animal’s caprices, although, in his 
place, I should have been ten times more severe. And this 
inconsistent humor governed my disposition in more 
serious matters. Thus, after lying awake tormenting myself 
with the most unreasonable doubts of Valentine’s constancy 
— doubts unjust in themselves and shameful for me to en- 
tertain — I no sooner heard him charged with having gone to 
Beauchamp Moat to see Mrs. Norman than my spirit rose 
in indignant protest against an accusation which attributed 
falsehood to my lover. 

But now that I come to examine my feelings closely, I 
perceive that a very great difference existed between the 
charges made against Valentine by others, and those which 
owned their origin to my own jealous imagination. For 
whilst every imputation put upon him by mysterious “X.” 
and now by Peters related to events taking place since the 
time of our becoming acquainted, those with which I 
tormented myself referred entirely to a previous date. To 
be plain, I was haunted with the jealous fear that at one 
time he had loved Mrs. Norman more dearly than he now 
loved me. 

This, I own, showed great weakness of character, but I 
wish it to be understood that my character was most faulty 


FOUND GUILTY. 


i6i 


in this respect ; for unless some concession is made to me 
for imperfections which it was beyond my power to correct, 
I cannot hope to be forgiven for the crime to which they led 
me. 

One good effect of the story told by Peters was, then, to 
dispel my idle vaporings and excite a generous sentiment, 
under which I felt I could defend my lover against his 
enemies though all the world slandered him. And so I am 
happy to say I had nothing but joyful love to offer him when 
we met, with no reserved thought or evil suspicion to shake 
the steadiness of my gaze as we looked into each other’s 
eyes. But how selfish and unsympathetic must I have been 
to add to his anxieties at a time when he needed relief ! 

I could see that he took his mother’s sufferings and the 
misfortunes of Mrs. Norman deeply to heart ; for he was not 
like some people I have known, who could change their 
moods as readily as their dresses to suit the company they 
were in ; he was too steadfast and sincere for that, and it 
was not necessary for him to be in the presence of those he 
loved to share their joys and sorrows. Under these anxieties 
he was naturally quieter and more grave than in the earlier 
time ; but I loved him none the less for that ; and his 
troubles in no way lessened his love for me, but were rather 
the cause of his loving me more ; for, in trying to be an aid 
and a solace to him, the better faculties of my nature were 
brought into play. It was a great happiness to me to find 
how useful I was to him in this way, and how much easier 
and lighter his heart became when he had told me all that 
was on his mind, and heard all that I had to say in reply. 

“ There is no one in all the world like you, love, for smooth- 
ing out the wrinkles of care,” said he one day. 

This made me wish more than ever to be near him ; and 
it distressed me to think that he was oppressed with care of 
which I might be able to relieve him in some measure, and 
yet could not for the distance that lay between us. 

This unhappiness, however, was but of short duration, for 
in the first week of September Valentine brought the joyful 
news that his mother was much better, though still unable 
to move without assistance, and that she wished to see me. 

“ I will go back with you, dear,” I said eagerly. 

“ I start to-morrow morning,” said he, “ and I fear you 
will scarcely have done all you have to do by that time.” 

II 


i 62 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Why, what have I to do ? ” 

“ Pack up all your marvellous dresses, for I have found a 
particular charm in each, and I would have my mother see 
them all.” 

“ They shall be packed. What else ? ” 

“ There is your guardian’s consent to be got.” 

I laughed at the idea of his objecting — that dear old friend, 
whose sole object seemed to be the gratification of my wishes. 

“ And he must be induced to forsake his studies for awhile, 
and come with us,” said Valentine. 

“ All that can be done before tea. And what have I to do 
all the rest of the time ? ” 

“The hardest task of all, perhaps,” he replied. “ Bid 
good-bye to Faulcondale, for I don’t think I can let you come 
back again, darling.” 

As 1 thought of bidding good-bye to Coquelicot and my 
pigeons, and the house where I had lived so long and found 
such happiness, the tears started to my eyes ; but when I 
thought of Valentine and his love for me, I was ashamed that 
he should see my weakness, and, brushing away my tears, I 
threw myself in his arms, and wound mine round his dear 
neck, glad to give up everything for him. 

But for all that I had a good cry when I had given Coque- 
licot his supper for the last time, and the poor beast, as if 
conscious of what was to happen, pricked his ears, looked 
round, and whinnied as I turned to leave. 

My guardian made light of the preparations for departure, 
although I kne\v that he was engaged the greater part of the 
night in making them, and the next morning we three left 
Faulcondale. 

I remember nothing distinctly between that time and the 
day of my marriage — all is like the memory of a dream at 
this distance — a dream of which I retain the sweet impression, 
and recollect some detached incidents now difficult to chain 
together and put in their proper sequence. This confusion 
in my mind can be understood, for to the time of my leaving 
home my life had been so regular and quiet that the events, 
separated by long intervals, stand out prominently, and the 
transition of this slow-moving pace to the whirl and bustle 
of my existence in London, where so many events were 
crowded into a small space of time, was bewildering in the 
extreme. Happily, I made notes every night of the day’s 


FOUND GUILTY. 163 

doings, and from these I can extract the bare facts necessary 
to continue the narrative of events during this period. 

“We arrived here (Fairlawn, Wimbledon), this morning 
(Sept, 5), where we are to stay as Mrs. Bromley’s visitors, 
until my guardian has found suitable apartments. 

“ Mrs. Bromley is very handsome still, though the face is 
marked with suffering. Her eyebrows are quite dark, though 
her hair is silvery white. She is very weak and emotional. 
Illness may have enfeebled her intellect, but it has not touched 
her heart. She shows an intense love for dear Valentine — 
who, indeed, that knows him would not love him intensely ? 
— and a strong liking for me also, which must be due to Val- 
entine’s love of me, the highest praise he can bestow, 

“ She looked at me earnestly as she held my hand, and 
then, turning to Valentine, she smiled as if in approval of his 
choice. She speaks with difficulty, being unable to raise her 
face from the pillow, but she said to my guardian, when he 
was presented, ‘ I think we may congratulate our children 
on their choice,’ and my guardian replied with gentle emphasis, 
‘ I am sure of it — quite sure.’ 

“ I was astonished by the elegance and luxury in all the 
appointments of the house, and the number of servants, and 
the sumptuous dinner ; and I wondered how Valentine had 
found anything to admire, as he did, in our plain house at 
Faulcondale and the simple fare we had to offer; how, 
indeed, after such luxury at home, he had been able to 
make himself tolerably comfortable with us. But he is 
easy under all conditions, I think : it is his nature. I have 
a lovely room, and Norton, a tall, handsome young woman, 
who waits upon Mrs. Bromley, also attends to my wants, 
dressing my hair before dinner, and when I come up to 
bed. I was placed at the head of the dinner-table opposite 
Valentine, and there were two servants to wait upon us. I 
own, many of the ways are strange to me; this, with the 
attentions of the servants, somewhat confused me at first : 
but I felt that for Valentine’s sake I must not let this 
appear, and so I employed all my tact to avoid committing 
any great solecism, and bore myself with the dignity which 
1 felt should characterize my behavior as the future wife 
of Valentine. But I had to employ no art to this end, for 
I felt I was no longer a rustic, and a thrill of pride ran 


FOUND GUILTY. 


164 


through my nerves and seemed to brace me up as I reflected 
that in a little time I shall be mistress of such a house and 
equipage as this. 

“ My guardian is so simple and indifferent to mere worldly 
considerations that he felt no constraint at all in these new 
surroundings. He was jocular with the stiff and formal 
servants, just as he is with Eliza at home, helped himself 
at table, and laughed for ten minutes over the mistake he 
made in drinking a good gulp of rose-water which was brought 
in bowls for our fingers. 

* * ^ * 

“This morning when Norton came in to dress my hair — 
I noticed that Valentine admired it at dinner yesterday — she 
said : 

“ ‘ If you please. Miss Howard, cook wishes to know what 
shall be prepared for dinner.’ 

“ ‘ Mrs. Bromley or Captain Bromley is the proper person 
to ask about that,’ I replied. 

“ ‘ Captain Bromley always leaves it to the cook, miss, but 
Mrs. Bromley begs that you will give her instructions, as she 
is careless and unsatisfactory in her arrangements.’ 

“ This naturally surprised me greatly and embarrassed me 
also, for I had no more notion of ordering such a dinner as 
we had yesterday than of driving a locomotive. However, I 
concealed my ignorance, and told Norton the cook should 
have her orders after breakfast. And then I taxed my in- 
vention for a bill of fare that would not render me ridiculous 
nor give Mrs. Bromley an unpleasant impression of my 
abilities. By good fortune I remembered that I had seen 
a menu in a copy of the Figaro which my guardian had 
given me from his store of old journals to envelop some trifles 
I wished to pack separately in my box. So when I was alone 
I got the journal and wrote on a piece of paper this my first 
menu : 


“ Potage k la julienne. 


Gateau au riz. 
Dinde rotie. 


Turbot mayonnaise. 
Boeuf k la Hollandaise. 
Rognons de veau sautes. 
Flageollets au beurre. 


Cresson salade. 
Baba au rhum. 
Biscuits vanilles. 


Cafe. 


Liqueurs. 


“ Norton’s eyes, which are rather wicked, though very 
pretty, twinkled maliciously, I thought, as she took this paper 


FOUND GUILTY. 


165 

from me. Valentine tells me that all the servants dislike 
Norton, so I fancy she saw the difficulty the cook would have 
in providing all I had set down, and her mortification in not 
being able to cook just whatever she pleased. But I think 
it has established my reputation in the kitchen, and that the 
servants are even more respectful and attentive now than 
they were yesterday. 

“While on this subject I may mention that the dinner 
gave Valentine surprise and satisfaction, and when we were 
alone I told him what had happened ; he laughed heartily, 
said I was born to rule, and made a great deal of this little 
incident. 

“ Norton has been of great service to me. She is very 
discreet. She does not presume upon my ignorance of society 
manners, which she must perceive, but adroitly makes sug- 
gestions which save me from perplexity and mistake. Thus 
when we were about to go for a drive before dinner, she 
asked if she should lay out my dark dress, whether I should 
prefer my bonnet to my large hat, and in which box she 
should find a pair of light gloves, thus preventing me from 
putting on things which might have made me unpleasantly 
conspicuous. We had a delightful drive through the Park, 
Valentine very kindly wearing a light suit to render the airy 
costume of my dear old guardian less noticeable. There 
were many, many carriages — so many that I could hardly 
think Valentine spoke seriously when he said that nearly 
everyone was out of town — and many beautiful women in 
elegant dresses, and handsome gentlemen, though none so 
handsome as Valentine. The gentlemen stared very much 
at me ; but I could see that they admired me, and I was glad 
of that for my dear Valentine’s sake. The ladies, too, looked 
at me curiously ; indeed, it was only the people who were 
quite young or quite old who seemed more interested in the 
professor, and these his wig or his brilliant scarf, or his straw 
hat, amused considerably. However, he was as much amused 
as they, so it made no difference to his pleasure. 

“ I shall be glad when I can dress as richly as any lady we 
met to-day, and I hope the wish is not the mere outcome of 
vanity — though I own to a feeling of exultation in the prospect 
of being foremost amongst the best women of society — but 
due, in some measure, to a proper desire to be worthy, in 
every respect, of my husband. 


i66 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ After going through the Park, we went as far as Charing 
Cross, and near there a man stood in the street selling French 
newspapers ; Valentine bought a Figaro and handed it to me 
with utmost gravity, and we both laughed. But I am glad to 
have the paper, otherwise I know not what I should do for 
to-morrow’s 77ienu. 

“After dinner I sat with Mrs. Bromley alone, Valentine 
having gone out with my guardian to hear music. 

“ She was pleased to listen to my gossip, and held my hand 
in hers for a long while. She wanted to talk, though she 
could only do so with painful difficulty. She said : 

“ ‘ If you knew how much 1 owe you, dear ! If you knew 
how happy you have made me ! I was miserable till you came. 
Shall I tell you why ? My son was unhappy. He could not 
rest. He tried to hide his impatience from me. But his 
heart ached to be with you. I was not jealous of his love for 
you. It is too late for that. But I could not bear to part 
with him before the time came for the last parting. And he 
saw this and stayed with me. But it was terrible to think 
that he was waiting with impatience for release — that he 
might quit the dead for the living love.’ 

“ This made me explain that she wronged Valentine to 
think that of him. 

“ ‘ I did not wish to think it. He would not willingly 
shorten my life. But the stronger yearning to be with you 
existed, though he would deny its existence to himself.’ 

“ I asked her why she should think so. 

“ ‘ Norton told me,’ she replied. ‘ She told me how he 
paced the room when he was alone — how he tried to read 
and could not fix his attention — how dull and dispirited he 
was. Do not be vexed with her. She has more than atoned 
for the pain she gave me by the joy she has given me since. 
I know that Valentine is happy now.’ 

* * * # * 

“ I asked my guardian this morning if he could give me a 
good deal of money. 

“ ‘ I will give you all I have,’ he said, and he gave me a 
check-book later in the morning, after he had been for a 
walk, and told me I could write orders for- as much money as 
ever I needed. In the afternoon I took Norton with me, 
and we went to some beautiful shops, and I was measured 
for three dresses, and bought so many things that I nearly 


FOUND GUILTY. 


167 

forgot how time flies in this occupation ; however, I returned 
to Wimbledon just in time to dress for dinner. After dinner 
Valentine took me to hear an opera ; it was the first time I had 
been in a theatre. I cannot attempt to discuss what I saw 
and heard. Why should I .? I am not likely to forget it, nor 
the happiness of the drive afterwards to Wimbledon in a 
hansom with my dear Valentine. Oh ! I am too happy to 
write more to-night. I want to lie down and think and dream 
it all over again. 

***** 

“ Mrs. Bromley’s affection increases. Already she calls 
me her daughter. Nothing can exceed her fondness — except 
Valentine’s, which is not the same. She told me to-day that 
I had brought order, as well as happiness, into the house. 
That before my coming the servants had been uncontrollable 
— the only dependable one being Norton, who, of course, 
could not control her fellow-servants ; the house had been 
neglected, waste and extravagance prevailed, poor Valentine 
had been badly served, and his life made intolerable by the 
endless quarrels and disputes between the riotous servants 
(though he never said anything about it to his mother, or 
would allow that he was made uncomfortable), and she her- 
self had been subjected to insolent messages sent up by 
Norton from downstairs. Now all this is altered. The 
servants recognize me as mistress of the house, are impressed 
by my dignity and ability, etc., etc. I am almost ashamed 
to write the flattering things she said of me. I am glad if it 
is all true. Norton, of cours'e, is the chief source of Mrs. 
Bromley’s intelligence ; but Valentine sees good in all that I 
do, and I believe talks about me to his mother in my absence, 
though it is not in his nature to flatter anyone. 

“ I cannot tell why Norton should be so devoted to my 
interests as this shows her to be ; perhaps she sees that it 
pleases Mrs. Bromley to hear praise of me, and has a wish 
to ingratiate herself in my favor. I do not think she is 
disinterested. Her eyes are too sly and furtive. 

***** 

“ My dresses came home to-day, and fit beautifully. I 
am charmed with them. I went down to dinner in my new 
favorite. Valentine insisted upon taking me to his mother 
before we sat down; his eyes sparkled with admiration. 
He is more passionate than he was — and I too perhaps. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


1 68 

For some time I could not write after our parting. The 
sound of his deep voice upon the stairs made me catch my 
breath and tremble. But it is strange that a man with 
some contempt for what he calls the conventionalities of 
society should yet be influenced by a woman’s dress. My 
new robe pleased me ; but I am sure it excited his love for 
me to a higher pitch. I suppose this is natural to all men, 
or women would not spend so much time on this manner of 
pleasing them. 

***** 

“ There has not been one visitor here since our arrival. 
Valentine goes out occasionally to see his friends at the 
club, but none come here, and Mrs. Bromley sees no one. 
She explained this curious fact to-night. During her hus- 
band’s life they lived on Mr. Bromley’s estate in the Mid- 
lands. The country was insupportably dull to Mrs. Bromley 
when he died, and she came to London and lived in May- 
fair. There Edith’s beauty procured many admirers, and 
they had a large circle of acquaintances, but Mrs. Bromley 
formed no new friendships. 

“ ‘ It seemed to me as if my heart had been buried with 
my husband,’ she said. ‘ I could never love anyone but my 
son and poor Edith. When my son went to Egypt, and 
Edith married and went to live at Wimbledon, where 
Norman was trying to establish a practice, the young people 
forsook me altogether, and I had not even an acquaintance. 
Then I came here to live, that I might be near Edith. But 
her troubles had begun, and for her sake I declined to make 
acquaintance with the people in the neighborhood. For my 
unhappy foster-child was humiliated by her husband’s harsh 
treatment, and she felt degraded from her former place in 
society. She feared to meet anyone who had known her 
when she was a triumphant beauty, and so you understand 
how it comes about that I know not a single soul to call my 
friend — except you, my dear.’ 

***** 

“ My guardian told me this afternoon that he had seen 
apartments in Bloomsbury that will suit me, he thinks. 
He says, and I agree with him, that we were asked to stay 
here while he looked about for a temporary home, and that 
although there is no falling off in the kindness of Mrs. 
Bromley, but rather the reverse, we must not presume 


FOUND GUILTY. 


169 

unduly upon her hospitality. To-morrow we go together to 
see the rooms; but I know not how Valentine will accept 
this arrangement. For every day we seem drawn closer 
and closer together, and when we are not together we seek 
pretexts for meetings, and he is never out of my thoughts. 
Our love is now an enthralling passion, and I cannot think 
of this new arrangement which must part us for many hours 
during the day without a sinking heart. 

“ He has changed greatly, from my point of view, since 
the early days of our love. He is more expansive, more 
joyous, more passionate. This is but natural, for we are 
constantly together, and every word and movement seems to 
excite some further development of our love. And then in 
those early days he was troubled about his mother’s health 
and Edith’s position. But now Mrs. Bromley’s condition is 
less critical ; for though she can never recover and a second 
shock would be fatal, the physician declares that she may 
live for many months. And Edith’s position seems better, 
if one can so describe a position that must be always bad. 
She has written a letter declaring that she was under the 
influence of mental delusion when she attributed murderous 
intentions to her husband, that he exercised no more severity 
than her disorder required, and that she believes by submit- 
ting patiently to his treatment she shall ultimately arrive at 
a condition which will restore happiness to herself and her 
husband. In the face of this.it is impossible, the lawyer 
says, to obtain a separation, even if it were thought ad- 
visable. Valentine persuades his mother to believe Edith’s 
letter, and he tells me that he himself believes that there is 
truth in what she says. He argues that Dr. Norman must 
be himself mad if his actions are not prompted by the 
motive he claims for them. For Valentine made him an 
offer of a sum larger than that he would derive from the 
death of his wife if he would agree to a separation, and he 
refused it ; which he would not have done, surely, if the only 
motive one can attribute to his cruelty was to drive his poor 
wife to self-destruction. 

***** 

“ When I told Valentine that I was going with my guardian 
to see the apartments he proposes taking for us, he held me 
by the two arms and said passionately : 


170 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ ‘ Doris, you shall never leave this house for a single night 
except as my wife.’ 

“ Faltering, I began to tell him that we had accepted his 
hospitality temporarily, but he would not hear me out. 

“ ‘ What we said then and what we do now are not the 
same,’ said he. ‘ Then I managed to live a week at a time 
without you ; now the night is too long, though you live under 
the same roof. These hands are not more necessary to me 
than the dear body that they clasp ’ — he had dropped my 
arms and drawn me to his breast. ‘ I can do nothing with- 
out you. I could not eat if you were not at the table, nor 
sleep unless I knew that you were within hearing of my call 
— I don’t think I could breathe the air that is not perfumed 
with your breath — such a sybarite have you made me.’ 

He made me sit, and putting a book in my hand, left me. 
I heard him go upstairs. When he came down he said that 
his mother wanted to see me. Norton left Mrs. Bromley’s 
room as I entered it. 

“ ‘ My dear child,’ said Mrs. Bromley, with agitation, 
‘ Valentine tells me that you meditate going away upon some 
feeling of etiquette or propriety, and I see that you are right. 
Your position here is anomalous and unsatisfactory. You 
are something more than a guest, yet something less than a 
member of the family. My love, be more than either ; be 
mistress here. I can never hope to leave this room alive, 
and all that I have must be yours and Valentine’s when I 
am no more. It is my dearest wish that you should be my 
son’s wife ; give me the delight of seeing my wish fulfilled. 
I know that the conditions are not those that a young bride 
holds dear. At such a season you will hardly like to make 
the ceremony brilliant, nor to stay long away from me after- 
wards ; yet a quiet wedding and a brief wedding-trip, though 
prosy and unromantic, may still be attended with great 
happiness.’ 

“ I needed no arguments of this kind, for though not par- 
ticularly wise, I was not so foolish as to set great store by 
ceremonies of an ostentatious kind, and I wanted not to hear 
persuasions that implied a want of feeling as well as want of 
sense in my disposition. 

“ I told Valentine this, and said I would be his wife when 
he would. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


171 

“This day Valentine told me that the license will permit 
him to make me his wife on Tuesday next, the i8th/’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

The extreme caution with which I had to use my saw for 
fear of making a noise that would attract attention, if by 
chance Dr. Norman should take it into his head to go through 
the kitchen and coach-house into the stables, and the fre- 
quent pauses made for the purpose of observing what passed 
in the courtyard, made my operation very tedious. I had 
forgotten to provide myself with grease for my saw, and 
cheese was an indifferent substitute ; so that, despite all my 
care, the saw would give an occasional squeak that sent my 
heart up into my mouth, as the saying is. However, by two 
o’clock I had managed to get a two-foot length cut out of 
one plank, and was well satisfied with my labor. I could 
see now what I was at, and by pushing the straw on the 
further side of the partition aside I got full play for my 
saw. 

But before recommencing I opened my second bottle of 
beer, picking the cork out with my gimlet and pocket-knife 
and satisfied my hunger with bread and cheese. During this 
repast I stood by the ivy-covered window and kept my eye 
on the court. Mrs. Norman had again come from the house 
and taken her seat. There she sat for a long time, watching 
the clouds as they slowly crept along the sky. In after days, 
when I was unable to move from my bed, and had no amuse- 
ment but to watch the clouds freely moving over the beauti- 
ful heavens, and changing every moment from one pretty 
form to another, it gave me a notion of liberty and happiness 
that made my captivity and the monotony of force stillness 
wonderfully sad, and nothing else. 

The dog having barked himself into exhaustion at the poor 
lady, lay down in the sun and watched her. I heard the clat- 
ter of Martha’s plates as she washed them in the kitchen. 


172 


FOUND GUILTY. 


and I had no doubt that Dr. Norman was back in his labora- 
tory. I set to work again, and by the time the light began to 
fade I got the second length cut out, leaving a hole at the 
bottom of the partition two feet long by about seventeen 
inches deep — ample room for me to pass my body through. 
I could do no more that day, so I waited as patiently as I 
could for nightfall, making my plans, and setting down on a 
piece of paper the things I stood in need of — such as screws, 
a screw-driver, a note-book, and, above all, more beer than I 
had brought for this day’s consumption. 

The moment I saw a light glimmering through the green 
blinds of the laboratory, signifying that Dr. Norman was there, 
I descended to the ground floor, set my lantern where I could 
lay my hand on it readily, opened the door, slipped into the 
moat, shut the door carefully, and then, with my empty car- 
pet-bag, got off as stealthily and as quickly as possible into 
the wood, where alone I felt perfectly safe. 

I reached Lipley, happily, before all the shops were closed, 
bought all that I wanted, enjoyed a pleasant half-hour in the 
alehouse discussing the latest murder, and then returned to 
the Moat House. I got in without any accident, fastened 
the door, lit my dark lantern, and went to the upper story, 
where I found everything as I had left it. Light still glim- 
mered through the green blinds, and there was a dim glow 
in a window of the wing opposite to me. I watched until the 
light disappeared in the laboratory, and another shone from 
a second window in the upper story opposite. As this light 
was more brilliant than the other, which yet shone through 
the white blinds, I concluded that this latter must be a night- 
light burning in Mrs. Norman’s room. This was satisfactory, 
for, though I knew the house tolerably well, it was necessary 
that I should be quite certain which was Mrs. Norman’s 
room and which the doctor’s, and the night-light showing 
through the crack round the door would be a sure guide 
to me. 

I had suffered too much by haste before to be in a great 
hurry now. I wished to make sure of my approaches before 
entering into the west wing, so I resolved to do no more that 
night than to make myself comfortable. With this view I 
now set down my lantern handy, and, lying down full-length, 
wriggled my way through the hole in the partition into the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


n 


Straw loft. I so arranged the door that it could not be opened 
and then I made up a comfortable bed with the straw and com- 
posed myself to sleep with the consciousness that I must 
wake at daybreak. 

At daybreak I woke and made my way through the lofts 
and empty rooms in the south wing to the door opening on 
to the corridor in the west side. I just opened this door and 
glanced down the passage, then closed it again and returned 
to the straw-loft. Here I arranged the straw pretty much 
as I had found it, leaving a little opening to pass through. 
Then I wriggled back into the east wing through the hole, 
and, putting my arm back afterwards, drew the trusses 
together so as to close up the opening through which I had 
crawled. 

I now set myself to brace together the two lengths of board 
I had cut out by means of a back-piece fastened to them by 
screws, and so contrived it that it might be drawn into the 
opening from the other side of the partition, or placed in it 
on my side in such a manner as to conceal the work I had 
been at should the straw be removed. As I gave the best 
part of the day to this — having nothing better to do — I made a 
very fair job of it. One more important affair than this was 
to be done, but that took less time. I had to write to Mrs. 
Norman. 

After a good deal of thinking, I wrote these words in my 
note-book, tearing the page so that it could be taken out the 
moment it was needed : 

“ A friend is here. If you wish to be free forever, stand 
by the open window of your sitting-room at nine o’clock to- 
morrow morning.” 

The evening was terribly long, and it seemed as if Dr. 
Norman intended staying at his studies all the night ; how- 
ever, it was not much later than eleven when he went to his 
room. I waited for fully another hour before quitting the 
east wing, during which time I made what preparations were 
necessary. Amongst the things I had bought on my last 
journey to Lipley were a pair of india-rubber goloshes. These 
I put on. I buttoned my jacket close and lit my lantern. I 
also unfastened the door below, so that it could be opened 
from the outside ; for if by chance I should be discovered, 
it would never do to make my retreat by the way I came, as 


174 


FOUND GUILTY. 


that would lead to the discovery of my secret entrance, and 
ruin any second attempt by that way. 

A little after twelve I began my business by withdrawing 
the hopper from the partition ; then, after another glance 
across the court, to see that no light was moving and none 
to be seen anywhere but in Mrs. Norman’s room, I lay down 
and crawled through into the straw-loft. I drew the hopper 
into its place, and, throwing the light of the lantern upon it, 
was pleased to see how well it fitted, being perfectly unnotice- 
able without close examination. I set up the straw in its 
place, and then with the utmost caution felt my way from point 
to point through the south wing — feeling it safer to keep 
my lantern in my pocket until it should be absolutely 
needed. 

My only dread was that the door dividing the passage in 
the west wing from the south should be fastened, but this 
precaution had not been taken, and so I presently found my- 
self in the inhabited part of the house, and within a dozen 
yards or so of Mrs. Norman’s chamber, my heart bumping 
heavily with excitement. I passed the room where Captain 
Bromley had slept during his stay, and then Martha’s, and so 
came to the head of the stairs. Here I paused and listened ; 
the only sound I could hear came from Martha’s room : she 
was no more dumb than other people in her sleep. So far all 
was well. A few yards more and I should be at Mrs. Nor- 
man’s door. But I had yet to provide for escape if flight 
were necessitated. I slipped carefully downstairs, my go- 
loshes being a great comfort to me, entered the sitting-room, 
and set the window open. All was still outside, and a gentle 
rain falling. 

Leaving the sitting-room door open, I crept upstairs, and 
once more stood in the corridor. I waited till I felt calm 
and steady, and then stepped forward. A little streak of 
light along the floor showed Mrs. Norman's door. I was 
less than a yard from it when I felt something like a stretched 
thread touch my shin — it was so slight as not to alarm me, 
and I made another step forward. Now I was bending down 
to slip under the door the page torn from my note-book, 
when, with a creak, I heard a door open further down the 
passage and the continued jingle of an electric bell. All was 
dark, and I pulled myself up, feeling that I might yet make 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I7S 

my escape in safety ; but, as fate would have it, in bending 
down my lantern had been pressed upward from my pocket, 
and now, as I straightened myself up, it fell on the floor with 
a clatter. I saw there was not a moment to spare, and turn- 
ing about I bolted for the stairs. Just as I got my hand on 
the banister there was the sharp smack of a pistol, and then 
another and another, and feeling a smart sting on the back 
of my leg I knew I had been hit. That gave a little more 
celerity to my flight, and I got to the foot of the stairs in 
three steps and a tumble. I dashed through the sitting-room, 
flung myself into the window, and dropped down into the 
ditch, whence I got into the wood in less time than I have 
taken to write about it. There I stopped to get breath and 
strength — both of which had forsaken me at the same time 
— contrary to the usual rule ; but the cause of this was soon 
apparent. 

I had thought by the feel of it that the shot at most had 
scratched my skin ; but now, feeling my trousers stick cold 
and clammy to my leg, I knew that it was something more 
than that. I found that my flesh was torn badly. I bound 
up my wound as well as I could, and then set out for Lipley 
with the most gruesome feeling ; for here was I once more 
beaten by Dr. Norman, my note being still in my hand, and 
nothing for all the pains I had taken but a flesh wound. “ Is 
he right ? ” I asked myself. “ Am I a blundering idiot ? ” 
This was the despondency of weakness. I fainted twice be- 
fore I got to Lipley, and then I dared not knock up the ale- 
house keeper, lest he should take me for a housebreaker. 

By the time he opened his house (which was on the out- 
skirts of the village) I could hardly stand, and had not 
strength to seek a pool of water where I might wash my hands 
of the blood on them. 

To make matters worse, I had smeared my face in putting 
my hands thoughtlessly to my forehead when I fainted ; so 
altogether I presented a pretty spectacle, and looked for 
nothing else than to be marched off to the lockup on sus- 
picion of having done away with somebody. However, come 
what might, I felt 1 must have help of some sort, so I stag- 
gered up to the landlord as he was taking down his shutters, 
and laid my hand on his arm. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


176 

Turning round and seeing me, he dropped the shutter out 
of his hand, and for a minute or so stared at me in silence 
with his mouth agape. 

But faintness coming over me again, I staggered forward 
to lay hold of the door-post for support, when he came to his 
senses, laid hold of me with his big hands, and helped mj 
into the house. 

There I went olf, and when I again came to, I was lying 
on a decent bed with a white ceiling before my eyes. 

“ What ha’ been doing, lad ” asked the landlord, bending 
over me ; “ nicking Squire Ludlow’s game ? ” 

I nodded, for he spoke in a sympathetic tone, that showed 
that he did not regard poaching as a heinous crime. 

“ I thowt so,” he said ; “ but it be a mortal shame as these 

’ere c d keepers should be allowed to fire o’ balls at a 

po’r feller and take their goons also.” 

I made up a plausible story about being a novice at the 
game, and only going through the woods to see whether there 
was any game about, which he didn’t believe, for he gave me 
credit for being an old hand at it, and liked me all the better 
for what he considered my cunning in pretending to be so 
ignorant of poaching. 

I told him I could pay for all I had, and if it would be safe - 
to send for a doctor I would like to have one, as I wanted to 
be on my legs again quickly. But he would not allow of 
having doctors in the place, who were no better than J. P.’s 
he declared, said he could do all that was necessary for me, 
and would set me up in a week. He, however, was not so 
clever as he thought, or I, as he declared, was more difficult 
to cure than most folks, and so at the end of the week I was 
still lying abed watching the clouds and fretting. 

By this time my anxiety grew unbearable, for though now 
my wound was certainly healing, I knew it must be a week 
at least before I could safely be up and about ; and while I 
was lying there my natural enemy, Dr. Norman, was having 
it all his own way. It was quite possible that he might suc- 
ceed in killing his wife, and separating Captain Bromley and 
Miss Howard before their marriage could be brought about. 

I was anxious to hear from Miss Norton, for whom, in 
these hours of idleness, my feelings grew very tender, so I 
wrote a letter to Eliza, at Faulcondale, telling her I was ill. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


177 


and asking her to come and see me, bringing any letters 
there might be at the post-office there. 

The simple creature came the very afternoon she received 
my letter, bringing a basket of cakes and fruit and a bottle 
of home-made wine (which I did not drink), and when she 
had kissed me, all the while blubbering and crying to see me 
so pale and thin, she gave me a letter she had got from the 
post. It was from Miss Norton, who wrote with a charming 
grace to tell me that arrangements were being made for the 
speedy marriage of Captain Bromley and Miss Howard, and 
asking me for news. 

But the thing of most importance was this. When Eliza 
had sighed off the last of her distress, and I got her to tell 
me what had been happening lately at Faulcondale, she 
astounded me by the information that Mr. Everleigh had 
called on Miss Trevor the day before to ask after his friends, 
whom he had heard were gone from that neighborhood. I 
could think of nothing but that ; however, I contrived to be 
affectionate and talk of other matters with Eliza all the same, 
who promised to walk over and see me the next day if she 
could get out. 

After wondering what deep game Dr. Norman was at now 
by this visit to Faulcondale, and thinking over it for some 
hours, I was suddenly struck with an idea for communicating 
with Mrs. Norman. 

I got up, and having procured paper and ink, I wrote in a 
bold hand, on a single sheet, so that the whole might be read 
at a glance : 

“ If you wish to be rescued from death, return this by 
bearer.” 

This I enclosed in an envelope ; I wrote no address on the 
outside, and left the flap ungummed. This message I in- 
tended to send to Mrs. Norman by Eliza, and I fancy I may 
claim credit for ingenuity in the plan I proposed. 

I waited with impatience for the girl’s coming, but I had to 
wait until Sunday. She sent me a letter on Thursday wetted 
with tears — I never knew such a girl for crying and laughing 
by turns — to say that Miss Trevor was angry with her for 
staying so long on Wednesday, and refused to let her go out 
again ; “ but I will sea yer on Sunda’, ” she concluded, “ if i 
dye fur’t.” 


12 


FOUND GUILTY. 


178 

The delay was no fault of hers, for she could not help being 
a fool, so I resolved not to be angry with her, especially as I 
stood in need of her help. But this waste of time, when it 
was so precious, galled me excessively. My impatience, how- 
ever, did something towards restoring me to health, for 1 could 
no longer lie still in bed — where the artful landlord, under 
pretence of healing me, would have kept me ever so much 
longer in order to get money out of my pocket — and, as I 
was now merely suffering from weakness, the exercise I got 
gave me appetite and brought me round. 

On Sunday my country sweetheart came in her marvellous 
bonnet, her best skirts tucked up to show her stiff bombazine 
petticoat and thick man’s boots to advantage — stars ! how 
the graceful and handsome Miss Norton would have scorned 
me for taking notice of such a rustic — her face bathed in 
perspiration with the haste she had made to get over the ten 
miles that divided her from me. She nearly smothered me 
with her embraces, and half a minute afterwards she was eat- 
ing her share of a cake she had brought in her pocket. She 
was a picture — of a certain sort, and I would have liked a 
good artist to have caught her when I began to unfold my 
scheme to her — the perspiration still standing on her face 
like rain-drops on a poppy, her blue eyes wide open, with no 
more expression in them than if they had been a couple of 
buttons, the crumbs of cake sticking on her thick red lips, 
and a good half of her white teeth — they were perfection, I 
admit — fairly revealed. 

I had already told her a tale suited to her intelligence to 
account for my having left Beauchamp Moat and fallen ill, 
and I now informed her that if my master would not take 
me back into his service I should have to enlist as a soldier 
and be shot for my country, which so moved the innocent 
creature that she forgot her cake and let the tears trickle 
down her cheeks, heedless of her stiff blue bow, on which 
they fell. 

“ Now,” said I, “ I want you to take a letter to my master.” 

She started up at once. 

“ We will walk together towards the Moat, and as we go 
I will make you understand what you are to do.” 

She was eager to save me from a soldier’s death — indeed, 
I believe she would have done anything I wished — and we 
started off at once. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


179 


I foresaw what would happen, and told her that when she 
rang the gate-bell a servant would come out to her with a 
slate, on which was written : “ Write what you want.” On 
this slate she would write : “ I want to see Dr. Norman. I 
am Eliza from Faulcondale.” The servant would go away 
with the slate, and either Dr. Norman or Mrs. Norman 
would come out to the gate, and to one or the other of these 
two — but not to the servant — she was to give the sheet of 
paper that I had put in the envelope to keep clean. If the 
paper should be given back to her it would be a sign that it 
was all right, and I shouldn’t have to go for a soldier, and 
she was to bring back the good news to me. 

I knew very well that Dr. Norman would be careful not 
to show himself to Eliza, as that would betray his identity 
with Mr. Everleigh, but I felt sure his curiosity and suspicion 
would not permit him to let her go away without knowing 
what she had come about. This he could not find out 
except through Mrs. Norman, for Eliza’s handwriting was 
of such an extraordinary kind that it was as much as ever 
she would be able to crowd in the few words she had to 
write, using both sides of the slate. 

I repeated my instructions again and again — warning her 
especially against letting the paper go out of her hands into 
the servant’s — and so impressed her with the importance of 
carrying out my instructions carefully, that I felt at last the 
girl might be trusted to do this rather delicate mission. 

We separated when the gables of Beauchamp Moat were 
in sight, and as she plodded along the road I slipped into 
the wood and worked my way round to the west of the 
house, where, from behind a thicket, 1 could see what took 
place, though at too great a distance to hear what might be 
said. 

I got to my point of observation after the bell had rung, 
and just as Martha came through the gateway to the wicket. 
I could hear the dog, who during the day was fastened with- 
in the gateway so that communication should be open be- 
tween the kitchen and the wicket, barking furiously all the 
while that my trusty Eliza was laboriously writing her mes- 
sage — full ten minutes, I believe. Then Martha took the 
slate, and disappeared. There was an interval of five min- 
utes or thereabouts, and then, as I had expected and hoped, 


i8o 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Mrs. Norman came to the wicket — Martha standing in the 
gateway. 

I saw Eliza pull the paper out of the envelope and put it 
in the lady’s hand ; but from Eliza changing her position I 
could not see the result. However, I had reason to believe 
the scheme had succeeded, for presently Eliza turned about 
and ran off at the top of her speed in the direction she had 
come. 

When I overtook her she thrust the paper in my hand and 
flung her arms round my neck, crying : 

“ You ain’t to go a soldiering, my dear sweetheart.” 

I asked her what Mrs. Norman had said. 

“ Ne’er a word,” she replied. “ She took the letter and 
read it, and then she looked at me curious like, and then 
she looked at the paper again, and then she put it into my 
hand and didn't say nothing. Only when I said, ‘ You’ll 
let Peters come back again, ma’am ? ’ she nodded, and then 
off I ran.” 

I was glad to hear this, for it showed that Mrs. Norman 
had grasped some idea of explaining the girl’s mission to her 
husband. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


i8i 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CONTINUED FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

It may be supposed that I felt a little shaky when I again 
set out with the intention of getting into the Moat House. 
There was no knowing what mean devilry Dr. Norman 
might not have invented as safeguard and tell-tale, and I 
was not so well cured of my last wound as to be indifferent 
to another. I risked my life in this enterprise. It was only 
by good luck that I had escaped with a simple flesh wound ; 
the next bullet might lodge in me ; and it was certain the 
doctor would keep his pistol ready for me ; but I had a no- 
tion of getting at Mrs. Norman by a way where he could not 
lay his lines of telegraphic communication. I had yet to find 
w'hether I could get into the house by the way I had left open, 
and whether the cut in the partition had been discovered. 

One thing was in my favor : the doctor had not seen 
me, and my blood-marks, leading to the discovery of the way 
in which I escaped, might lead him to suppose that it was 
an ordinary thief, who had got into the house by the sitting- 
room window. 

There had been heavy thunder-storms during the day ; 
the night was close and heavy and hot ; a thick mist had 
risen and lay along the valleys ; while the dense clouds that 
still hung over the sky added to the obscurity. I must have 
lost my way had it been less familiar to me, but I had no 
occasion on such a dark night as this to leave the road until 
I came to the opening in the woods in which the house 
stood. 

I skirted the edge of the woods, feeling my way as I went, 
for there was no seeing, until I came upon the little stream 
that ran down the hill on the north side of the house. Then 
I knew where I was. I crossed the water, went on for a 
dozen yards as I reckoned, and turning down at a right 
angle, presently saw the dark mass of the house looming 
through the mist ; another step or two brought me to the edge 


i 82 


FOUND GUILTY. 


of the moat, and feeling my way first a little south and then 
to the north, I came upon the brickwork that had served as 
a support for the wooden bridge. Then I had only to slip 
into the ditch, cross it, and I should come to the old door. 
I sat down, and launching myself off as I had done before, 
slipped into the moat. But here was a surprise for me that 
took all the breath out of my body ; the moat was no longer 
empty. 

There was no stopping myself — I went down until my feet 
touched the bottom, and the water was up to my armpits. 
I stood gasping there for a couple of minutes, undecided 
what to do — whether to scramble back or to go on. I could 
get no wetter, and the ditch I knew was no deeper on the 
other side, for some rubbish there formed a heap which made 
an entrance by the door easier. I waded on, cursing the 
ingenuity of Dr. Norman. 

If there was any consolation to be got from being half 
drowned, it was this : the doctor had not suspected my 
secret, and had turned the water of the stream into the moat 
to stop would-be thieves from entering by the windows on 
the west side. There was further proof of this in the door 
being as I left it — unfastened ; which it certainly would not 
have been had he known the real facts of the case. I opened 
the door, dragged myself up, and then groped my way to the 
upper floor. The matches in my pocket were wet, of course, 
and the new lantern I had brought with me was useless. I 
felt about for my hopper, and had the satisfaction of finding 
that as I had left it. Then I took off my clothes, wrung them 
as dry as I could, stuck them about wherever they would 
hang, and drawing out the hopper, crept into the loft and 
smothered myself in straw, in which I slept with tolerable 
comfort until the morning. 

I dressed myself in my damp clothes, and not wishing to 
make them wetter than they were, I looked about for a 
means of crossing the moat otherwise than on the last occa- 
sion. There was no time to lose, for it was already lighter 
than I wished, and Martha was seldom down later than six. 

I found a tolerably sound piece of board about eight feet 
long, and carried it down to the door. As I have said, the 
brickwork which had held the bridge still stood, and my 
piece of board reached the pier in the middle with a foot to 
spare ; by this means I got on to the pier, taking care to 


FOUND GUILTY. 


183 

close the door well after me ; and standing on that, I drew 
over the board and dropped it across to the further edge of 
the moat, and thus I got over dry foot. I carried the board 
up into the wood and thrust it amongst the herbage by the 
side of the stream for future use. 

I passed the day at Faulcondale instead of Lipley, for my 
landlord was just curious enough about my affairs to take it 
into his head to watch me in my expeditions. There I pro- 
vided myself with all I needed, and shortly after midnight I 
once more entered Beauchamp Moat, making use of the 
board to get in without a wetting, and drawing it in after 
me. 

By the light of my dark lantern I arranged my store of 
food — I had brought as much as I could carry — so that the 
rats of which there were abundance, couldn’t get at the eat- 
ables and then, being anything but sleepy, for I had taken a 
long rest in the afternoon, I sat down to reflect. One would 
think that former experience had led me to shrink from more 
risk than could possibly be avoided ; but it was not at all so. 
My passion for adventure grew stronger by the difiicuUies in 
this undertaking ; moreover, I was piqued by the advantage 
Dr. Norman had hitherto won over me, and I thirsted to take 
my revenge and get the better of him. And so sitting there 
with nothing between me and Mrs. Norman’s room but a 
certain length of passage and a wooden hopper, I was 
tempted strongly to adventure that way with a view to slip- 
ping under her door the letter I had already written. I was 
not fearful of being again betrayed by Dr. Norman’s electric 
apparatus, knowing exactly where my leg had struck the 
thread, and having my lantern to look for it ; but when I 
thought of my ducking in the moat, and the ingenuity with 
which the doctor contrived to meet all dangers, and reflected 
on the grave importance of soon getting more money, 
prudence prevailed, and I abandoned this project. And 
lucky for me it was that I did so, for that attempt would 
surely have been my last had I made it. This I discovered 
the next morning. 

A little before six, as I was looking from the ivied window 
to see if Martha was yet about, the kitchen door opened, 
and Dr. Norman, in his slippers and dressing-gown, came 
into the court. He stopped by the dog-kennel, and called ; 
then from the house the villainous-looking dog crept out, and 


184 


FOUND GUILTY. 


slunk up to him to be attached to the chain. The beast was 
now allowed the run of the house at night, thus securing 
Mrs. Norman in her room, preventing her from leaving it, 
or others from communicating with her. This settled the 
question as to how Mrs. Norman was to be approached. 

I spent all the day in studying the means at my disposal, 
and making preparations for my next attempt ; and I watched 
the approach of night with anxiety. A breeze had sprung 
up and cleared the clouds and mist away. It was an im- 
portant change for me. The moon rose about nine, and 
shone with such unpleasant brilliancy that I determined to 
postpone my venture to another night when the weather 
might be more favorable to the hazardous undertaking. 
And so with reluctance I lay down on my straw bed to sleep. 
But I could not sleep for thinking of the opportunities I had 
let slip, the time wasted in following a wrong scent, the skill 
with which Dr. Norman had twisted me round his finger 
(shooting me through the leg into the bargain), the import- 
ance of expedition, etc., etc. ; and these reflections tormented 
me to such a degree that at length I could no longer lie still, 
and jumping up I went to the window to see if by chance 
any clouds had sprung up. There was not a trace of cloud 
anywhere, and the moon shone more brilliantly than ever. 
It looked like set fine, and I said to myself that I might have 
to lie in the straw for a fortnight if I waited for a more 
favorable night. 

Looking round the court, I found all still and dark, except 
where the moonlight fell on part of the west and north wings. 
It seemed to me that I had been lying on the straw four or 
five hours, and I concluded that it must be about two o’clock. 
All I had to fear was that Dr. Norman might accidentally 
wake and come to the window during the next half-hour. 
That was most unlikely — and an accident which might occur 
at any time, and must be included amongst the hazards of 
my enterprise. And being on this train of reasoning, with 
impatience and wishes allied to support my argument, it was 
not long before I came to the belief that no time coyld be 
better than the present for the work to be done. 

I had already written the letter to be given to Mrs. Nor- 
man, and attached to it a dozen yards of twine, and I now 
examined it once more to be sure that the knots were secure, 
and the hook at the other end of the twine well secured ; and 


FOUND GUILTY. 


185 

putting it in an inside pocket that it might not meet with the 
same accident that came to my lantern, I buttoned up my 
coat and made a start. 

The arrangements I had made enabled me to climb with- 
out difficulty from the floor to the roof tree, and making my 
way through the ivy, I presently got outside on the gable 
ridge. I had part of the east, the whole of the south, and 
two-thirds of the west wings to pass, before getting over Mrs. 
Norman’s room. When I got to the angle formed by the 
east and south wings, I stopped in my course and looked 
down. I could see my shadow cut out clearly on the court- 
yard — the moon being now over my left shoulder. In the 
opposite angle of the house was Dr. Norman’s room. The 
window was open. Now if anything should induce him to 
come to his window, it would be all over with me, for there 
I sat on the roof-top in the moonlight as fair a mark to shoot 
at as any sportsman could wish for — and no escape. This 
consideration urged me onward, and on my hands and knees 
I crawled along the ridge-tiles as fast as I dared. 

Half-way along the south roof I stopped, for a rotten ridge- 
tile snapped with disagreeable clearness under my weight, 
and a pellet of mortar fell with a “ tapple, tapple, tapple,” 
down the tiles, and a “ clink ” into the gutter under the 
eaves. With my hair bristling I glanced down into the 
court. To my horror I perceived there was a light in the 
laboratory ; for I had come to a position whence I could see 
the whole of the north wing. From the window in the east 
wing I had only commanded that part upon which the moon 
shone ; but now I saw the end, which was still in shadow, 
and there alone the light within was visible through the 
green blinds. 

At that moment the clock in the kitchen struck, and to my 
strained ear every beat was audible. It struck twelve ; my 
impatience had misled me by a couple of hours. What was 
the price I might have to pay for this last mistake 1 Ob- 
viously Dr. Norman was still in the laboratory ; I was exactly 
opposite. If he came to the window, alarmed by the rattle 
over the tiles, and by the growling of the dog below, he 
could scarcely fail to see me. He might already have seen 
me ! In another moment I might see him step out into the 
moonlight in the courtyard, pistol in hand, to pick me off 
with no more ceremony than if I were a cat. I had such a 


i86 


FOUND GUILTY. 


lively dread of another bullet, that I resolved that if the 
worst came to the worst I would slide down the roof and 
drop into the moat, and chance what might befall me in the 
descent. 

But happily there was no immediate necessity for this pro- 
ceeding ; the noise had failed to alarm Dr. Norman ; so, after 
a few minutes of fearful suspense, I arranged the broken tile 
so that it should not fall, and pursued my way to the end of 
the south wing, and there I felt that the chief danger was 
passed, for now the doctor would need to cross the court- 
yard to see me. I got to a stack of chimneys in the west wing, 
and now I felt absolutely safe, for not only would the brick- 
work help to conceal me, but it would protect me from bullets 
in case of discovery. 

About half-past twelve I heard the rattle of a window be- 
low, and this I concluded must be the doctor’s, which I had 
noticed was wide open when I last looked at it, but that did 
not tempt me to hurry my operations. I waited until the 
kitchen clock struck two, and then I went back a certain dis- 
tance to be sure there was no light in the laboratory before 
making the final move. Reassured by my observations, I 
crawled back to the chimney-stack, got round it with a little 
ticklish climbing, and then went onwards, counting the ridge 
tiles as I went, and stopping when I reached the forty-sixth. 
This, as I knew by examinations made from a window in the 
opposite wing during the day, was exactly over the middle of 
Mrs. Norman’s bedroom window. I pulled out my letter, 
unwound the string, and holding the end with the hook in 
my hand, I threw the letter, which I had weighted with a 
few nails, out in a straight line towards the court, for the 
pitch of the roof and the gutter under the eaves would not 
permit of its being slid down as I had at first purposed. I 
heard it tap against the wall of the house, then 1 drew it up 
carefully until I saw one corner of the envelope pricking up 
in front of the gutter, when I put out a length of string suf- 
ficient to reach, as I calculated, about half-way down the 
window, wound up the rest and tied it in a loop, and fixed 
the hook under the edge of the ridge tile. This done, I care- 
fully crawled back along the roof, and at length arrived safely 
at the ivy-covered point from which I had started. From 
thence I could see my letter hanging in front of Mrs. Nor- 
man’s window, and exactly where I wished it to be. She 


FOUND GUILTY. 


187 

could not draw up her blind in the morning without seeing it. 

There was still the possibility of its being discovered before 
Mrs. Norman rose, but that possibility was slight. Dr. Nor- 
man would have to lean out of his window or look up from 
the courtyard to catch sight of it, and it was not his habit 
to stare about aimlessly. As for Martha, she kept her window 
constantly closed, and in the morning had too much to do to 
occupy herself with looking after things that did not concern 
her. Nevertheless, I watched the course of events with con- 
siderable anxiety from my screen of ivy in the east wing. 

At six o’clock Dr. Norman came down in his dressing-gown, 
fastened the dog to his kennel, and returned to the house. 
The blind of his window was not raised, so I concluded that 
he had gone back to bed. 

Soon after that Martha came from the kitchen with mats 
to shake, and went back again. At half-past seven the blind 
of Mrs. Norman’s window rose. I held my breath for a 
couple of minutes in fear lest the letter might escape notice ; 
it came again in a sigh of relief as the window was pushed 
back, and Mrs. Norman took the letter in her hand and read 
the address. She leaned forward, glanced towards her hus- 
band’s window and down in the court, then slipped the string 
olf the letter. This is what I had written in the letter : 

“ A friend is at hand. He has already risked his life in 
your behalf. He will risk it again' to help you, though he 
should once more be shot in the attempt. But nothing can 
be done to save you unless you help to save yourself. You 
must follow these instructions if you wish to escape. Cut the 
string with which this was let down, as high up as you can 
reach, that it may not be seen. In the course of the day 
write a few words saying that you go in fear of your life, that 
you are not allowed to write freely to your friends, and ask- 
ing to be released from your husband. Wait until you are 
absolutely sure that Dr. Norman and Martha are asleep to- 
morrow night, then tie your letter to the end of the string 
hanging from the eaves. If this is not practicable, v/ait until 
you see a fresh string with a weight at the end lowered, then 
tie it to that. Twenty-four hours after this you shall be free.” 

A couple of min-utes passed, and then Mrs. Norman again 
came to the window, and after making sure that no one ob- 
served her, she raised her hands and cut off the string with 
a pair of scissors above the level of the casement. I was 


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in ecstasies, and rendered audacious by success, took my 
board, bridged the moat, and got away through the woods 
unseen, though at a risk which (considering that the people 
of the house were now up and about) was not far short of 
foolhardiness. 

It was after midnight when I again entered the house. 
The moon again was excessively bright, and I distinctly saw 
something white at the end of the string under the eaves. 
More than that, I saw Mrs. Norman’s face from time to time at 
the window. This showed that Dr. Norman was no longer up ; 
but I waited as patiently as I could until the clock struck 
one before I ventured to leave the ruined wing, and creep 
up through the ivy to the solid roof. To Mrs. Norman, 
watching at her window, I must have looked weird and 
ghostly indeed, rising up against the moonlight. I saw her 
as I crept along standing by the window with her hands 
clasped, and I stopped to take off my cap. I got round 
without accident and drew up the letter, which was tied to 
the end of the string. When I returned to my starting place, 
I held it up in the moonlight to show Mrs. Norman that I 
had it safe. 


CHAPTER XX. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THE REV. DR. BULLEN. 

It was between four and five in the morning of the i8th 
September that I was aroused by a violent ring at the garden- 
bell, and, scarce awake, turned out of my bed and went to 
the window. The bell rang again before I could throw up 
the sash, though I had lost so little time that my senses 
were still dull with sleep. 

“ Dr. Bullen,” cried a man’s voice. 

“ Here am I,” I replied. 

“ I’ve something important to tell you, sir ; for the love of 
heaven,” (or some such apostrophe) “ come down at once ! ” 

I did not recognize the speaker in the gray light, the moon 
being sunk behind the elms ; but I made no doubt his busi- 
ness concerned Mrs. Norman, for the misfortunes of this un- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


189 

happy lady weighed heavily on my mind, and despite some 
reassuring correspondence shown me by Captain Bromley, 
I took a gloomy view of her position, and never went to bed 
without assuring myself that the spare room was ready for 
her use should she come to me again for shelter. 

I slipped on a pair of slippers and my gown, ran downstairs 
with all speed, and opening the door, perceived that my 
visitor was the young man Peters, who had done so much 
to save Mrs. Norman on the day I by an ill chance suffered 
her to fall into the hands of her husband. I took him into 
the parlor, where he told me a marvellous tale of the efforts 
he had been making to get from Mrs. Norman a true and 
free statement of her condition, which, if it be but half true, 
shows a degree of courage and devotion not often reached 
by young men of his class in these days. 

“ Well,” said I, when he had recounted his last exploit, 
“ and have you managed to keep the letter safe and sound ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” he replied, pulling it out of his pocket, and 
clapping it in my hand : “ and there it is.” 

I took the letter to the window, and made out these words 
(or some similar in sense), written in trembling and weak 
characters : 

“ I am not mad. Is it not proof enough that I know my 
name is Edith, and that I am married to Norman Norman ? 
Were I mad, could I be conscious of all the misery I have 
to endure? I am imprisoned here, and my husband is goad- 
ing me to destruction. I have written letters imploring help, 
and given them to Martha, to the tradespeople, and to beg- 
gars ; I have thrown them in the road, hoping they would 
be picked up by strangers ; all have been returned to me to 
show me there is no hope of escape — all except that which 
I wrote under my husband’s direction, and with the hope of 
obtaining his mercy. The misery of my life is inconceivable ; 
I can bear it no longer. 

“ You say that in twenty-four hours I shall be free. It is my 
last hope. If it fail, I will put an end to my wretched life. 
I will wait twenty-four hours from the time this is taken. 
May God have mercy upon me for what I do after that in 
despair, for my misery is no longer to be endured. 

“ Edith Norman. 


'"'‘September 17th, 1884.” 


190 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ What is this,” I asked, looking up from the letter when I 
had read it, “ about being free in twenty-four hours ? Who 
has made that promise ? ” 

The young man admitted that he had done so, and his 
sheepish air seemed to imply that he had made the promise 
in a spirit of bravado and boastfulness ; but he justified it by 
saying it was necessary to inspire confidence and hope in 
order to get a reply to his letter. 

‘‘ But,” said I, “ what is the use of the letter without means 
to rescue the lady ? ” 

“ Why, sir, that letter supplies the means,” he replied ; “ for 
surely, if you will be so good as to show that to a justice of 
the peace, he will give you a warrant to get Mrs. Norman 
released.” 

I shook my head, for I knew something more of our 
county justices than to credit them with so much common- 
sense. For these worthy gentlemen are so impressed with 
the majesty of the letter of the law, that they are somewhat 
dull to the spirit of justice, and for fear of overstepping the 
former they will, more frequently than not, stop short of the 
latter — except where rabbits or their own rights are con- 
cerned. 

“ There is not a justice of the peace in this county,” said 
I, “ who could make up his mind in twenty-four days to take 
the responsibility of such an act on his shoulders.” 

Then, looking at my clock, I saw that it would be time 
saved to go up to London for justice rather than to puddle 
about the country hunting up justice with no stronger claim 
than this poor lady’s letter. For certainly, if Valentine 
Bromley, thought I, is the man I take him to be, he’ll no 
sooner see this letter than he’ll take justice in his own hands, 
and, with a couple of good strong navvies, force that prison 
and get out his suffering sister. That was my idea of justice, 
and how I should have acted in his place. 

“ Come, my lad,” said I, “ let us bustle about and lose no 
time. We’re committed to save this lady in twenty-four 
hours, and save her we' must. Therefore, run you down to 
the George Hotel at Lipley, and fetch a sound chaise and a 
decent horse, while I get into my clothes. Here,” said I, 
taking a card out of my desk and two bright half-crowns, 
“ give this card to the folk at the hotel, and say I must have 
a trap to take me to Barstow at once, on a matter of life 


FOUND GUILTY. 


191 


and death, and you won’t have to wait long. These five 
shillings you may put in your pocket, for you have deserved 
them.” 

. The lad did not wait to bandy words over the matter, but 
tripped off like a lamplighter. 

1 dressed myself, wrote out some instructions for Elizabeth, 
took a hearty drink of milk in the larder, cut myself a hunch 
of bread to eat on the road, and was out against the garden- 
gate by the time Peters, with a lad from the George, came up 
in a dog-cart at a gallop. 

“ I shall be back with help before nightfall,” said I to 
Peters. 

“ But if you’re not, sir } ” said he inquiringly. 

“ Then, my lad,” I replied, “ it will be your duty to do what 
lays in your power for this lady. You may be able to convey 
another note to her begging her to have patience.” 

“ But supposing I do better than that, sir — suppose I get 
her out of that house ? ” 

“ Then,” said I, putting into his hand the door-key of my 
house, which I carry in my pocket habitually, “ then you 
may bring her here, and hold my house as a castle till suc- 
cor comes.” 

It was eleven o’clock by the time the train got into the 
London terminus, and past mid-day when the cabman pulled 
up before Fairlawn House. 

I ran up the drive, knocked at the door, and asked to see 
Captain Bromley. 

“ Oh, sir,” replied the smart maid, with an arch smile, 
“ you’re half an hour too late : they went off at half-past 
eleven.” 

“ Went off J they ? where ? who ? ” 

“Why, sir, Mr. Valentine and Miss Howard, who is his 
wufe by this time, I dare say, for they went off to be 
married.” 

I remembered now that this, being the i8th, was the day 
appointed for the marriage, of which Valentine had written 
me, kindly inviting me to be of the small party — a fact which 
I had quite overlooked in thinking of Mrs. Norman. 

I learnt from the girl the name of the church at which the 
young people were to be married, and bade the cabman drive 
me thither, for my news could not be kept back from Valen- 
tine and his bride, though it should enforce a postponement 


192 


FOUND GUILTY. 


of their happiness. Before I could get to the church, Valen- 
tine and Dorothea were man and wife. 

The sexton was closing the door of the church as I 
arrived. 

“ A lady and gentlemen are here being married,” said I. 

“ It’s done, sir,” he replied ; “ all over ! and they’ve been 
gone this five minutes.” 

“ Do you know where ? ” I asked. 

“ I believe, sir, as they’ve gone down to the railway station ; 
but if you’d like to see the clergyman as united ’em ” 

I would not wait for that, but getting into the cab, told 
the driver to take me to the station ; my inquiries there were 
fruitless. Valentine and his wife were in plain morning 
dress, and I saw on the platform a dozen of such ladies and 
gentlemen, while every few minutes brought a change of 
faces with the incoming trains. 

It was past two when I got back to Fairlawn. A close 
carriage stood before the door. A couple of servants were 
talking in a whisper on the steps. The maid who had spoken 
to me before came forward with a scared face as I stepped 
out of the cab. 

“ Have you found them, sir ? ” she asked. 

I shook my head. 

“ Well, there now,” said she, brightening up. “ I’m sure 
I am glad of it for their sakes.” 

“ Why ? What has happened ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, don’t you know, sir ? But there, of course you don’t, 
for it’s happened since you were here — Mrs. Bromley has 
had another attack, and she is dying.” 

“ Who is with her ? ” 

“No one but the two doctors, and I heard them say 
nothing could be done, and it’s all over this time.” 

“ And where is her son gone ? ” I asked. 

The girl looked at me with her sly eyes in doubt a moment, 
and then said she did not know. But I saw this was not 
true, and that with a girl’s sentimental sympathy she did not 
wish to convey this sad news to the newly-married couple. 
The only person, she said, who could have told me was Mrs. 
Bromley, but she could no longer speak. 

I asked if she knew when Captain Bromley and Mrs. 
Valentine were expected to return. 

V To-morrow,” she replied. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


193 


“ Surely, my dear,” said I, “ he would not leave his mother 
even for a day in her critical state of health, without giving 
instructions as to where he might be found in case of neces- 
sity ! ” 

The girl grew red, and in confusion left me, saying she 
would ask of another servant. After keeping me some time, 
she came back to tell me that Captain Bromley had gone to 
Richmond, and was to be found at the Royal George. Thus 
was another precious half-hour lost, and by a little under 
that space did I miss Valentine at Richmond, where, at the 
hotel, I learnt that the party had gone out in a carriage, and 
were to return for a seven o’clock dinner. 

Referring to a time-table, I found the train to Barstow, 
which must be taken to save Mrs. Norman, left London at 
7.45, and to catch that it was necessary to leave Richmond 
not later than 6.45. 

I ordered some refreshment, and wrote a letter to Valen- 
tine, telling him my errand — an unthankful and dolorous 
one, indeed. I waited until ten minutes to seven, and then, 
seeing no sign of their return, I left my letter with the waiter, 
to be given to Captain Bromley, and hurried off to the 
station. 

I got a fly at Barstow; nevertheless, it was half-past 
twelve by the time I reached Orwell. Thence by the nearest 
way across the hills, it was an hour’s smart walking, and by 
road pretty nearly as long a drive, to Beauchamp Moat. 
There was not a minute to spare. My good old servant, 
Elizabeth, came to the door the moment I knocked. 

“ Has anyone called — is anybody here ? ” I asked. 

“ No, sir,” she replied. “ A messenger brought this, and 
that is all.” 

She put a telegram in my hand, and I read it while she 
ran off to find my thick stick. For it was now clear I must 
take the matter in my own hands. The telegram was from 
Valentine Bromley, and sent from Richmond. He said 
briefly / hat he would come as soon as possible — that meant 
that he would only come when it was too late to be of use. 
But how could it be otherwise \ His first duty was to return 
to the bedside of his mother. The flyman was yet at the 
gate waiting to be paid. 

“You can go home by the old London Road,” I said to 
him. 


13 


194 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Well, sir,” says he, “ it’s a long way round, and it’s a 
rum road at night ; but it is pretty clear, and if so be you 
want me to go that way, sir ” 

“ I do,” said I, “ and I will pay you for the extra work ; 
drive on until you come to the old house with a moat round 
it.” 

“ Oh, Beecham Moat ! I know that. All right, sir.” 

I bade him drive as quickly as his horse would go, and 
took my seat. 

Not the least difficult part of my undertaking lay before 
me. I had to wake Dr. Norman and insist upon his making 
provision to deter his wife from committing violence upon 
herself. 

I resolved, if necessary, to force my way into the house, 
and stay there until Captain Bromley came. 

The only thing that should prevent me was physical force, 
and I felt myself and my oak stick a match for the slim 
doctor. But even if I did not succeed in that, the very ring- 
ing of the bell and the sound of my voice at this hour would 
convince Mrs. Norman that help was at hand, and so inspire 
her with hope. I ran the risk of getting into trouble with 
my bishop by taking the law into my hands ; but bishop or no 
bishop, I could not disregard the possibility of evil befalling 
one of my parishioners. 

As I sat revolving' these things in my mind, I perceived 
through the windows in the front of the fly that my driver 
had risen from his seat and was standing on tiptoe, with one 
hand on the top of the carriage. But presently he sat down 
again and lit his pipe. 

We were now in the old London Road, and rather less 
than four miles from the Moat. A smart wind had sprung 
up, and brought up a few clouds in the sky. But the moon 
shone fair and bright the greater part of the time. A big 
cumulus cloud was just creeping over the edge of the moon, 
when up jumped my coachman once more with his pipe in his 
hand, and though the cloud threw the country round into 
obscurity, he stood still. 

I put my head out of the window, and asked what was the 
matter. 

“ There’s a rick a-fire over there, or I’m a Dutchman,” he 
replied, pointing ahead with his pipe. “ I thought I smelt 
’um five minutes aga” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


195 


I craned my neck out as far as I could, and, looking in the 
direction indicated, I saw a glow over the pine-woods ; it 
pulsated almost like a northern light, and I should have 
attributed the glow to that phenomenon but for a smell of 
burning that came down on the breeze. 

“ It’s a jolly big rick, too,” said the coachman. 

“ Why,” said I, “ there is never a rick-yard between Lipley 
and Faulcondale that I know of, and no farmhouse nor build- 
ing of any kind except Beauchamp Moat.” 

“ Then it’s Beecham Moat that’s a-fire,” replied he senten- 
tiously. 

He flogged his horse into a gallop, greatly excited) and 
pleased too, it seemed to me) with the prospect of seeing the 
house in flames, and I continued to crane out of window, 
with I know not what new fears and apprehensions, until we 
entered the fir wood. There, sitting in the fly and looking 
through the front windows, I could see at the end of the vista, 
formed by the straight cutting through the wood, the red glow 
of the Are growing every moment more distinct. Before long 
the light was obscured, and a dense volume of smoke envel- 
oped us, causing the eyes to smart, and tickling the throat. 
This drew forth a facetious remark from the coachman, and 
in high glee he whipped the horse more vigorously than 
before. 

And now objects in the road were made visible by the 
reflected glow from the sky above, and under the fir-trees the 
ground was flicked here and there with patches of light ; 
again a cloud of smoke, thicker and more pungent, blew 
down, choking me, and obliging me to shut my eyes, and 
then, as it cleared off, and I looked up, I saw sparks eddy- 
ing in the air, and an ember as long as my little finger flick- 
ered down past the window. 

“ Oh, my eye ! here’s a good ’un ! ” exclaimed the driver, 
after a fit of coughing, caused by the stifling smoke, but 
cheerfully, as if it were a pleasant sensation. 

And then we came to a part where the falling of sparks 
frightened the horse, and despite the cries and flogging of 
the driver, the beast stood still, trembling and snorting. I 
leapt out, and ran on until I came to the opening in which 
the moated house stood, and there a terrible sight burst 
upon me. The whole of what I may call the west and north 
wings were in flames, and the fire was bursting out of the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


196 

windows in the south wing and up through the open roof on 
the north end of the ruined side. The greatest body of flame 
rose from the corner of the west wing, in which Mrs. Norman’s 
and Dr. Norman’s bedrooms were situated. The walls were 
chiefly of timber, with plaster and brickwork between. The 
latter had, for the most part, given way and fallen out, leav- 
ing, as it were, nothing, but the skeleton of the building in 
that portion standing. The lighter timbers of the roof had 
fallen in, but the heavier joists and beams forming the floor- 
ing of the upper story, tough yet and solid, stood out and 
made a kind of gridiron, through which the flames from the 
lower story shot up, carrying a myriad of burning embers 
and sparks that floated above like a swarm of fire-flies. 

It was clear that unless the doctor and his wife had es- 
caped from their rooms they must have been utterly destroyed 
long ere now. It astonished me then to see the fire so much 
fiercer in this part than elsewhere, and I could not make out 
what fed such a vast body of flame ; for it was not until the 
inquest that I learnt how the lower rooms had been used 
by Peters as a carpenter’s shop, and contained a great quan- 
tity of light planks, shavings, etc. 

It was indeed a terrible, yet a grand sight, and the splen- 
dor of it was increased by the water which filled the moat, 
and reflected the raging flames and clouds of sparks above 
like a mirror dulled now and then by puffs of steam, as a 
blazing beam fell hissing into it. And this steam seemed to 
invigorate the fire, and it was curious to see how the flames 
curled and twisted, and shot out hither and thither, seek- 
ing, as it were, for fresh food, dropping fiery saliva, lick- 
ing the woodwork, and leaving the trace of its destroying 
tongue, as it darted away in greedy impatience lest anything 
should escape. The heat, albeit I was well on the windward 
side of the fire, was terrible, so that at times when the breeze 
lulled I had to screen my face with my hat, and fall back 
some paces. I cast my eye about in all directions, to see if 
I could find anywhere the poor creature whom I had come 
there to serve — alas ! too late. But except myself there 
seemed to be no living soul there, until the coachman, who 
had forsaken his fly and horse, came up. But that which 
gave me some hope was that the hooded gig had been drawn 
out, and stood at some little distance from the moat. 

“ Surely,” thought I, “ if there was time to rqscue this 


FOUND GUILTY, 


197 

thing from destruction, all hope of Mrs. Norman’s deliver- 
ance is not lost.” 

Whilst I was contemplating the scene which I was power- 
less in any way to alter, a hand was laid upon my arm, and, 
turning about, I discovered the deaf mute by my side. 

“ Your mistress — where is she?” I asked, forgetting for 
the moment her incapacity to understand or answer me. 

She shook her head ; but had she possessed the faculty of 
speech, I could not have heard her there for the roar of the 
flames, the cracking of the timbers, and the continual hiss- 
ing as embers, brickwork, and molten lead tumbled into the 
water. I drew her away from the heat, for the flames were 
now bursting out of the south wing from the water’s edge to 
the roof, and with what composure I could muster I pro- 
ceeded to question her in the deaf-mute alphabet. 

“ Your mistress ? ” I asked. 

She shook her head, and pointed into the flames still rag- 
ing in the west wing. 

“ Your master? ” I next asked. 

“In London,” she replied. 

“ Are you sure your mistress had not escaped ? ” 

She nodded, and then informed me that her mistress could 
not pass the dog. He was alive long after the fire broke out, 
and raging at his chain. No one could have passed. His 
kennel was in the gateway. He was suffocated not a quarter 
of an hour ago, when the fire was close to the gate. 

“ How did you pass ? ” 

“ I was not in there when the fire broke out,” she replied. 

By a tedious series of questions and answers, I learnt 
that in the afternoon she had driven to Barstow with Dr. 
Norman, and left him at the station, where she was to seek 
him in the morning. Before leaving the Moat, the doctor, 
who alone dared to approach the dog, had drawn the kennel 
into the court to allow of her entering by the gateway ; when 
she returned, she found that the beast had dragged the kennel 
into the gateway, and rendered it impossible for her to pass. 
She had tied up the horse in the wood, and at nightfall 
had made herself comfortable in the gig. There she had 
fallen asleep, and been awoke by the glare of light. The 
west wing was then in flames. The wicket of which she had 
the key, was shut, and the dog was raging in the gateway. 

The story seemed improbable, and 1 could not believe the 


198 


FOUND GUILTY. 


woman. Nay, I went so far as to accuse her in my mind 
of having fired the house and destroyed Mrs. Norman. 
Heaven forgive me ! 


CHAPTER XXI. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY. 

I DO not desire to extenuate my faults. I wish only to nar- 
rate the terrible events that occurred in the month of Novem- 
ber, and later, impartially, and to give a clear account of the 
circumstances which guided me step by step towards my 
ruin, that I may be judged not more harshly than my offence 
requires. 

On the 1 8th September, Valentine Bromley made me his 
wife. We were married by special license, and quite pri- 
vately. 

“ Is there no one you would like to be present ? ” Valentine 
asked. 

“ No, dear,” “ I answered ; “ no one but Miss Trevor and 
my guardian. And you,” I added, “ you have no friends \ ” 

“ None that I care to ask,” he replied. “ It must needs be 
a prosaic wedding, Doris ; the poetry will come after.” 

I was quite content that it should be so. Mrs. Bromley’s 
critical state of health was not consistent with rejoicing — 
except of that kind which dwells quietly in the heart. 

Before going to church we went into Mrs Bromley’s room 
to bid her good-bye. She joined our hands and said, “ God 
bless you both.” Esther Norton promised not to leave her 
room until we returned. 

Then we went to the church — Valentine and I — with Miss 
Trevor and our dear old professor. Besides ourselves, no 
one was present at the ceremony, except the clergyman, his 
clerk, and a pew-opener. When the ring was on my finger, 
and Valentine, kissing me, said, “ You are my wife now, dar- 
ling,” I felt that I was now indeed a woman, and that my 
real life had begun. That brought serious thoughts to my 
mind, but I was very happy at the same time, and I spoke 
with my whole heart when I said to Valentine, “I will try to 
be a good wife, love.” 


FOUND GUILTY, 


199 


The carriage that had brought us to the church took us on 
to Richmond. There we had lunch, and the professor, who 
had been very gay, made a little speech full of pretty senti- 
ment and kindly feeling. Afterwards we went for a drive 
through the lovely park, and coming to a village beside the 
water, Valentine found a boat, and he and the professor 
rowed us up-stream. My guardian was not a good rower, 
but that only made it more amusing ; nobody laughed more 
than he at the mistakes he made. Coming back I took an 
oar, and when I got accustomed to the exercise, I enjoyed it 
greatly. It was the happiest afternoon I had ever had. 

It was late when we returned to the hotel where we were 
to dine. 

The waiter handed two letters to Valentine. He took 
them to the window to read, the light being faint. His back 
was to us, but I saw he had received a shock. His hand 
holding the paper dropped by his side, and he bowed his 
head in silence. I went to his side. 

“ My mother is gone,” he said in a broken voice, putting 
the paper in my hand. It was a telegram from Esther Nor- 
ton. 

While I read it he broke open the other envelope. It 
contained two sheets of paper. He stifled an exclamation as 
he read one and the other. Then without a word he put 
them in my hands. One was a short note from Dr. Bullen, 
the other was a message written by Mrs. Norman. 

‘‘ You must go at once, dear,” I said. 

“ Yes,” he answered ; and going quickly to the door, he 
ordered the horses to be put in the carriage. 

While this was being done he looked in the time-table, and 
wrote down some figures. It was eight o’clock when we 
reached Fairlawn. Norton told us that Mrs. Bromley had 
fallen asleep immediately after our departure. The girl had 
only quitted the room to answer Dr. Bullen’s inquiries ; after 
that she had returned. Going to the bedside, she found that 
Mrs. Bromley had not moved ; then, alarmed by her stillness, 
she touched the lady’s hand, and found that she was dead. 

After seeing the doctor, Valentine took leave of me. 

“ I must go to Edith,” he said. “ Heaven grant I may be 
in time to save the unhappy soul ! ” 

He went away, leaving me with Miss Trevor and my guar- 
dian at Fairlawn ; and so ended my wedding-day. 


200 


FOUND GUILTY, 


He did not ask me to go with him, nor did I ask him to 
take me. I felt sure he had considered the subject, and seen 
that it was inadvisable for me to accompany him. I should 
have only impeded his action. I saw by his firm manner 
that, if force were necessary to take Mrs. Norman away from 
that house, he would employ it. Had I been a man, I 
should have done as he did — I said that to myself. Never- 
theless, it seemed hard to me that we should be separated, 
and that I could be of no help to my husband. 

How terrible it was after we had said good-bye, and I re- 
turned through the silent passage to the drawing-room, where 
Miss Trevor and my guardian were talking in an undertone. 
Everyone seemed awed by the presence of death in the 
house. The servants moved about noiselessly ; they spoke 
in whispers as though they feared the sound of their voices. 
One could not help thinking of death, with Mrs. Bromley 
lying in the room above, and Mrs. Norman menaced with a 
fate yet more terrible ; with these thoughts in our minds it 
was impossible to talk rationally as at other times. Every 
now and then one would ask a question, and it would be 
answered ; then a silence followed, in which the quick tick- 
ing of the timepiece on the chimney, unnoticed till then, 
struck the ear noticeably. It seemed to say, “ I go on, I go 
on, I go on,” as if mocking at humanity and those who fall 
in the race with time. 

It was yet more terrible when we separated, and we went to 
our rooms. I could not sleep. I was oppressed with a grim 
foreboding, terrified with a dread of I knew not what. It 
was useless to say to myself, “ You are childish. It is absurd 
to dread a calamity that you cannot define. The things that 
have happened are the natural result of certain definite con- 
ditions, and it is merely vulgar superstition to suppose that, 
because the first day of your married life has ended darkly, 
the sun is not to shine in the days to come.” The terrible 
thoughts would not forsake me ; and when, trying to fix my 
mind on our wedding, I began to lose consciousness, the old 
pew-opener came towards me with something white hanging 
over her arm. 

“ You have no veil,” she said ; “ take this. It will do for 
such a marriage as yours.” And when I asked what it was 
she had brought me to wear, she replied, “ It is a winding 
sheet.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


201 


* * * # * 

A little before ten the next morning I received a telegram 
from him. There had been a long delay at Sheffield — a goods 
train had run off the line. It was six o’clock in the morning 
when he arrived at Beauchamp Moat. The worst had 
happened, he told me. Nothing but a smouldering ruin 
remained of the house, and Mrs. Norman was buried in it. 

Valentine did not return until the 22d, having to be 
present at the official inquiry. 

Our meeting was strange with those mingled feelings of 
joy and sorrow. 

“ It gives me life and light to be with you again,” he said. 
“You lift my thoughts out of the sepulchre.” 

But when the joy of meeting had given place to observa- 
tion, I saw that he was yet troubled. 

“ I have done wrong,” he said, when I led him to talk 
about himself. “ If I had been more decided, Edith, would be 
living now. I ought to have taken her away by force from 
that place.” 

“ But you took the opinion of your solicitor,” I urged. 

“ There was my fault. I ought to have taken the law into 
my own hands.” As I did not respond, he continued, “ I 
know the excuse you are making for me, Doris. We were 
doubtful whether Norman was a villain or a hard-headed 
man of science, acting for the best in a case that he alone 
could sound.” 

“ That is what I think, dear.” 

“ Then, if we thought him innocent, I did wrong in letting 
Peters act as if he were guilty. I should have settled that 
in my mind one way or the other. I did not, and I have 
probably been the cause of Edith’s death.” 

“ How call that be .? ” I asked. 

“ Read that,” he said, handing me a newspaper — the 
Lipley Sentinel ; “ you will see how it is. I should be glad 
never to hear another word about this thing.” 

“ We will not talk about it any more, dear,” I said, and I 
put aside the paper ; but when I was alone, I turned to it 
again with avidity. 

I found a long report of the inquest. I have the paper 
now. These are the passages that struck me : 

Dr. Nornian. I recognize the steel ornaments. They 
were upon the dress my wife wore when I left her. I recog- 


202 


FOUND GUILTY. 


nize, also, the wedding-ring ; it was upon her finger the last 
time I saw her. The fragments of calcined bone are human 
beyond doubt, and the remains of my wife, I have every 
reason to believe. 

Mr. Grote (solicitor, representing the friends of the de- 
ceased lady). As a scientific man, you would probably have 
an anatomical collection of human bones ? 

Dr. Norman. Certainly. 

Mr. Grote. Where did you keep your collection ? 

Dr. Norman. In the laboratory — a hundred feet from 
the spot where these fragments were found. 

Mr. Grote. Your bedroom adjoined Mrs. Norman’s, we 
are told ? 

Dr. Norman. Yes. 

Mr. Grote. Is it not likely that you had taken the col- 
lection into your room by any chance } 

Dr. Norman. It is not at all likely. More than that, it is 
impossible. They would have been reduced to impalpable 
powder in such a heat. These fragments exist through being 
protected to some degree by surrounding muscles. 

***** 

James Biggs, ticket collector at Barstow Station, said : 

Dr. Norman came to Barstow Station on the night of Sep- 
tember 1 8th. He came in a trap driven by a woman — that 
one there (pointing to Martha Jecks). He took a ticket, and 
I punched it. I saw him get into a second-class compart- 
ment of the up train. I shut the door for him. 

Dr. Eustace Macivor, attending physician at Bethlehem 
Hospital, said : 

Dr. Norman called upon me by appointment at ten o’clock 
September 19th. After explaining that the object of his 
visit was to obtain from me a certificate of his wife’s insanity, 
he said : “ I must get my wife into an asylum at once. She 
is beyond my control. I am certain that she meditates 
suicide. It is for my own sake, quite as much as for hers, 
that I wish her removed ; the danger is as great for me as 
for her. As frequently occurs in such cases, her friends will 
not believe in her insanity, but are fairly convinced that I 
am a diabolical villain. If my wife commits suicide, I shall 
be charged with having murdered her.” We arranged that 
I should examine Mrs. Norman next Monday, and our 
interview ended. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


203 

Mr. Grote. Were you acquainted with Dr. Norman pre- 
vious to this meeting on the 19th of September 

Dr. Mac Ivor. Yes, we studied together at King’s Col- 
lege. 

Mr. Grote. You have Dr. Norman’s letter appointing to 
meet you on the 19th ? 

Dr. Mac Ivor. Yes (the letter produced). 

Mr. Griffiths (coroner). From the evidence of Dr. Mac- 
Ivor, I conclude, Dr. Norman, that in your opinion Mrs. 
Norman herself fired the house ? 

Dr. Norman. No, sir, that is not my opinion. Martha 
Jecks declares that when she first discovered the fire the 
flames were issuing from the windows of the ground floor in 
the west wing, and were confined to that part. My wife’s 
room is on the floor above. I had fastened the door before 
leaving, so that she could not possibly get out. 

A yuryman. There was no one else in the house ; the 
fire broke out some four or five hours after you left it ; if 
Mrs. Norman did not fire the house, w'ho did ? 

Dr. Norman. That is a question for the police to inquire 
into. In my opinion a warrant should be issued at once for 
the apprehension of Thomas Peters. 

The Coroner. Who is this Thomas Peters } 

Dr. Nor 7 nan. A lad employed by me as a laboratory 
assistant. He lived in my house for some months. I have 
reason to believe that he is a thief. He tampered with the 
locks of my private drawers, and attempted to rob Captain 
Valentine Bromley while staying at the Moat. I discharged 
him for aiding in the attempted abduction of Mrs. Norman. 
Subsequently he broke into my house. I found him in the 
passage leading to my room. I shot him. The wound, 
however, did not prevent him from making his escape. He 
got in by a window on the first floor, and escaped the same 
way. Up till that time the moat had been kept dry. I 
flooded it to prevent his entering that way again. 

Mr. Griffiths. Notwithstanding your precautions, you 
believe that he did get into the house and set fire to it t 

Dr. Norman. It was not at all necessary that he should 
get into the house to do that ; although I have no doubt he 
could have done so had he wished. Whilst in my service he 
amused himself with carpentry in his spare moments. The 
refuse, chips, shavings, and what not, he kept in a room im- 


204 


FOUND GUILTY. 


mediately under the rooms occupied by my wife and myself. 
This room was lighted by a casement looking on to the moat. 
It was left unglazed for the purpose of ventilation. On the 
outside it was protected by two or three iron bars. Anyone 
standing on the opposite side of the moat wall, which is twelve 
feet broad, could, with a little practice, succeed in throwing 
a stone with a lighted fusee attached to it into the room. I 
had overlooked this possibility, but it occurred to me the 
moment I learnt from Martha that she had first seen the 
flames coming through that casement. 

Mr. Grote. You believe he was actuated by a spirit of 
revenge ? 

Dr. Norma7i. Yes, Mr. Grote (speaking with grave delib- 
eration). But I shall not be surprised to find when the lad 
is examined that he was influenced by pecuniary considera- 
tions as well. 

Mr. Grote. Does it not seem to you that the lad Peters, 
knowing that your relations with Mrs. Norman were of an 
unhappy kind, adopted a strange system of revenge in destroy- 
ing Mrs. Norman as a means of punishing you ? 

A Jicryman. Possibly he was not aware that Dr. Norman 
had left the house. It may have been his intention to 
destroy Dr. Norman, irrespective of the consequences upon 
Mrs. Norman. 

Mr. Griffiths. I think it will be best to reserve questions 
until we have heard the whole of Dr. Norman’s theory. 

Dr. Norman. I will complete my theory in answering 
the objection made by Mr. Grote and the last speaker. It is 
my belief that Peters knew I was not in the house when he 
fired it. He has always shown himself on former occasions 
both cunning and careful. He would not commit an act of 
this kind at haphazard. He would proceed with delibera- 
tion. If he meant to destroy me he would make sure that I 
was in the house to destroy. Even if he came down between 
the time of my leaving the house in the trap and the return 
of it, he could assure himself whether I was at -home or not. 
He knows my habits. He could tell by the absence of light 
in the laboratory and in the sitting-room that I was not there. 
I firmly believe that he saw me leave the house. 

Now, with regard to Mr. Grote’s question, I submit that 
there is nothing odd whatever in the mode of revenge 
adopted by Peters. The line taken by Mr. Grote in this ex- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


205. 


amination indicates the theory entertained by my enemies ; 
that theory is that I set fire to the house to get rid of my 
wife. 

Had I gone to London by accident — had I not provi- 
dentially written that letter of appointment to Dr. Macivor, 
this inquiry would probably end in my being committed to 
take my trial for murder. Peters saw this chance of sad- 
dling me with a crime which I could scarcely rebut, and he 
availed himself of it. 

Mr. Griffiths. Thatwoiild imply that Peters was acquainted 
with the supposed feeling of your enemies, and the probable 
action they would take. 

Dr. Norman. I believe that when we get Peters in a wit- 
ness-box we shall be able to prove that such an acquaintance 
with the motives and intentions of the persons in question 
did absolutely exist, and has existed from the moment he 
assisted Dr. Bullen in abducting my wife. 

Mr. Griffiths. Have you any observations to make, Mr. 
Grote, upon this extraordinary statement ? 

Mr. Grote. No, sir. Whatever I have to say upon this 
subject must be reserved until we can get hold of Peters. It 
is a case purely hypothetical, and one that I think ought not 
to be entered into here. 

I read this report through again and again, and many ques- 
tions occurred to me which I wished to be answered, but I 
would not speak about it to Valentine after what had passed 
between us. I learnt, however, from my guardian some par- 
ticulars which confirmed Dr. Norman’s theory even in the 
opinion of Mr. Grote, the solicitor. Inquiries had been made, 
and it was found that Peters had been in the neighborhood 
of Beauchamp Moat from the time of his discharge from Dr. 
Norman’s service until the evening of the day on which the 
house was burnt down. Since then he had not been seen, 
and no trace of him could be found. It was thought he had 
seen the report which appeared the day after the inquest, and 
had made his escape to avoid apprehension. “ If he were 
innocent,” Mr. Grote said, “ he would certainly have com- 
municated with us, claiming reward for the service he ren- 
dered in getting the communication from Mrs. Norman.” 
But no messsge came from him, and it was believed he had 
gone to Liverpool and thence taken passage to America. 


2o6 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Mrs. Bromley was buried on the 24th. The weather was 
heavy, dull, and dispiriting. 

“ We must wait another week, dear,” said my husband, 
“ and then, if nothing occurs to prevent us, we will go where 
the sky is bright, and we may get rid of our morbid reflec- 
tions.” 

In the meantime he endeavored to inspire me with cheer- 
ful thoughts and hopes for the future. 

“ When we come back it will be to begin a new life, and 
everything about us shall be new,” he said ; and then we 
went to different places looking about for a house that would 
suit us. It did not matter where we settled, as neither he 
nor I had any friends. 

“ I think this will suit us,” said he, when we went to 
Chislehurst ; “ the country is pretty, there are good people 
to know round about, and it is so near London that we can 
drive home after going to the theatre if we wish it.” 

I quite agreed with him, and after a little looking about 
we found a delightful house standing in the midst of beauti- 
ful grounds upon the side of a hill. The view was not so 
grand or extensive as from the hills about Faulcondale, but 
there were many pretty houses to be seen peeping out from 
the trees, and it was pleasant to think that in everyone of 
them might be a future friend. 

The people we met were refined and graceful, and the 
children were simply lovely, so that in my heart I almost 
wished that our journey abroad was over, that we might be- 
gin to know our new neighbors. The house itself was the 
prettiest I have ever seen, with many high-pointed gables, 
little balconies outside the windows, and inside bright lively 
rooms, well lit, and a fine conservatory at the back, and all 
manner of queer little rooms and passages ; besides a coach- 
house, and stabling, where one might keep Coquelicot and 
half a dozen other horses. 

Seeing how charmed I was with it, Valentine agreed to 
take the house at once. The next day he instructed an 
agent to sell Fairlawn when we were gone ; and after that 
we went together to a decorator in Oxford Street, who was 
commissioned to furnish the house completely. He under- 
took to have it ready by the last day in October. I sighed 
to think that a whole month and more must pass before I 
could see in our own house all the rich and beautiful things 


FOUND GUILTY. 


207 

exhibited to us as we passed through the show-rooms of than 
wonderful shop in Oxford Street. 

Then it was arranged that Esther Norton should engage 
all necessary servants and instal them at Woldhurst — that 
was the peculiar name of our house — and be in readiness 
to receive us about the second week in November. 

We had no hesitation in trusting the house in Esther’s 
hands, for though she was a young woman, she w^as extremely 
methodical and orderly. She had shown a strong attach- 
ment to Mrs. Bromley, and was more moved than one might 
have anticipated when she heard of the terrible fate of poor 
Mrs. Norman. 

And so all things being arranged, and Mr. Grote telling 
Valentine that there was not the slightest necessity for him 
to wait in London, as Peters was beyond doubt out of all 
reach, we bade good-bye to Professor Schlobach and started 
for Paris. 

“ You will see me at Christmas,” said the professor once 
more as the train started. 

He was going to revisit Germany for the first time since I 
had been under his care. 

“ Good-bye till Christmas,” we answered, and then, as he 
quickly passed out of our sight, I leaned back nestling 
against my husband’s shoulder, and when he pressed my 
hand and looked into my face, I saw that we were both 
thinking that now our real happiness was come. 


2o8 


FOUND GUILTY, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

We spent four days in Paris ; then we went to Rome, and 
stayed there two days ; thence we went to Venice, where we 
stayed a fortnight, and all that time I was so happy, that I 
could think of nothing but the time present. Everything 
was so new, so wonderful, so lovely, that it surpassed all I 
had ever imagined ; when for a moment the past returned to 
my remembrance, it seemed impossible that so short a time 
separated us from the lugubrious events which overclouded 
our wedding. It was just as I had felt when, waking up in 
my old home, with the sunlight streaming into the room, the 
blue sky unclouded, and the swallows twittering under the 
eaves, I recalled to mind vaguely some terrible dream that 
had occurred in the night. 

From Venice we went to Nice. Despite the beauties of 
the bay, that place appeared less beautiful to me. Perhaps 
my eyes were satiated with such a long feast of color, my 
mind less susceptible to impressions — I know not ; but after 
being at Nice some three or four days, I found myself one 
day speculating about our future home at Woldhurst, and the 
people whose acquaintance we were to make. 

We were sitting in the garden of the hotel. Seeing that 
my thoughts were far away, Valentine said : 

“ Thinking you would like to go home, little one ? ” 

I nodded, laughing and blushing at the same time, for I felt 
rather ashamed of myself for seeming discontented amid so 
much that was beautiful. 

“ Well, we will start to-morrow,” he said ; “ I dare say we 
shall get home in time for a London fog : that is something 
to look forward to.” 

He still at times talked to me in that tone which had of- 
fended my dignity at our first meeting — the tone he might 
have adopted towards a child. It was natural to him to talk 


FOUND GUILTY. 


209 


in that way ; he never intended to assert his superiority. 
Nevertheless, I could never reconcile myself to it. I was 
over-sensitive. . 

The next day we left Nice and returned to Paris, arriving 
there on Saturday morning. On Monday evening, he tele- 
graphed to Esther Norton saying that we should be home on 
Wednesday. We left Calais on the afternoon of Tuesday, the 
28th of October. 

It was cold, a fine misty rain was falling as we left the 
harbor ; after we had been on deck a little, Valentine bade 
me go down into the cabin, and I stayed there until the stew- 
ardess came in and said we were at Dover. 

I went up on deck. Valentine was at the head of the steps, 
his ulster on with the collar turned up. The mist had thick- 
ened into a fog ; we could hear the voices of men on the quay 
without seeing them. There was a greal deal of noise — 
sailors shouting as they bumped the luggage about, the hissing 
of the steam, the rattle of machinery, the hoarse hollow 
whistle of steamers. 

“Well, Doris,’-’ said Valentine, smiling, as he arranged a 
woollen wrap about my throat, “ are you satisfied ? ” 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ I am quite content. The cold and 
fog remind me how comfortable our rooms will be with the 
blinds drawn and firelight glowing upon our home.” 

“To-morrow, Doris, to-morrow,” said he, pressing my arm 
to his side as I slipped it under his. 

He had determined to stay at Dover that night, fearing the 
voyage might be rough, and I should be unfit to go on. I 
was so impatient to be in my home, that I would willingly 
have put up with the inconvenience of arriving at Woldhurst 
unexpectedly; but Valentine expressed his dislike of going 
into a home possibly unprepared to receive us, so I concealed 
my wishes. 

Five or six persons were waiting outside the gangway. 
It 'ws.s hard to distinguish what they were through the fog ; 
but as we drew nearer, I saw that one was a woman tall and 
slight. I fancied that she in carriage resembled Esther Nor- 
ton, and I hoped it was she, come to tell us that the house 
was quite ready, if we chose to go home at once. 

It was a piece of thoughtfulness and attention not incon- 
sistent with the girl’s admirable character. But I was dis- 
appointed ; she fell back as we drew nearer. 

14 


210 


FOUND GUILTY. 


A hotel porter came forward as we passed the gangway and 
touching his hat, said : 

“ Warden, sir ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Valentine, giving the parcel of rugs. 

I turned round as Valentine spoke, and at the same time 
I saw the woman move away abruptly, and a moment after 
she was lost to my sight. 

We dined, and then Valentine drew my chair before the 
fire, made me comfortable in it, and putting a book in my 
hand, told me he should leave me for an hour. 

I was glad that he should leave me at times. I did not 
wish him to feel that he was tied to me, and must take me 
with him or stay with me always. I wanted him to see that 
though I had been a foolish and jealous girl, I was now wiser 
and more reasonable. I kissed him, telling him I should be 
quite content to read the whole evening if he found amuse- 
ment in the smoking or billiard room, and settled down to my 
book at once. 

But before long my thoughts began to wander from the 
story, and letting the book drop on my knees, I gave myself 
up to reflecting on the past and speculating on the future. 
After awhile my ideas grew confused, and I fell asleep — that 
was when my imagination had taken to building pleasant 
castles in the air. 

I know not how long I had been sleeping, when some noise 
outside the hotel awoke me. 

Turning my head as I opened my eyes, I perceived that 
Valentine was seated near me. His eyes were upon me ; the 
expression upon his face was grave and anxious. 

“ I have been asleep,” 1 said, sitting up quickly, and now 
wide awake. “ What time is it ? ” 

He looked at his watch and said it was half-past nine. 

“ And have you been sitting here long ? ” I asked regret- 
fully. 

“ No, only a few minutes,” he replied. 

I told him how I came to fall asleep. 

“Ah, you were thinking about the past and future,” he 
said ; “ that is just what has been in my mind ; I should 
like to know what your thoughts were, Doris — will you tell 
me ? ” 

“Yes,” I said, holding out my hand. He drew his chair 
close to mine and took my hand in his, then I continued : 


FOUND GUILTY. 


2H 


“ First of all, dear, I thought of our meeting, and the day 
when I first felt sure that you loved me. Then I thought of 
my jealousy, and the unhappiness it brought upon me. That 
was the most prominent event in my recollection. I am 
ashamed now, when I think how jealous I was of poor Mrs. 
Norman, how much more readily I believed in the charges 
made against you than in your loyalty and truth. I was 
not in my senses then, I could not have been. It is irrational, 
ridiculous ! ” 

“ Jealousy is madness, I think,” he replied ; “ no one can 
be rational under such influences.” 

“ Perhaps so. But jealousy is inexcusable when in your 
heart you believe that the one you love is innocent.” 

He regarded me earnestly, and asked me if I had felt 
jealous when my heart told me he was innocent. 

“ I would not conceal the truth from him, I said : I am afraid 
I did. I believe that I was jealous of poor Edith — a little 
jealous — right up to the last.” 

“ That is what I thought,” he said gravely. 

“ But that is all passed,” said I ; “it can never happen so 
again.” 

“ Why not ? ” he asked ; “ accident made you jealous of 
Edith ; accident might make you jealous of someone else.” 

“No, no, no,” I answered, “ that cannot be, for I know 
you can give no just cause for jealousy.” 

“ But you have shown that jealousy exists without cause. 
You told me that you were jealous of Edith to the last.” 

“ On the eve of our marriage, did I know you as I know 
you now ? ” I asked triumphantly, feeling that I had never 
loved him so dearly. 

He looked into the fire thoughtfully for some seconds, 
and answered reflectively, as if responding to some mental 
question of his own rather than to my objection : 

“ A woman’s nature does not alter in six or seven 
weeks.” 

“ You will see, dear, you will see,” I said confidently. “ I 
shall never again be jealous of you. I could not have fallen 
asleep so easily if I had not been sure of that.” 

“You think that you cannot be again jealous because you 
believe that you have a fuller knowledge of my character. 
But what do you know now that you did not know before 
our marriage ? ” 


212 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Don’t I know how you love me, how strong in principle 
you are, how free from even petty vices ? ” 

“ Well ? ” he said questioningly, as if I had not given suf- 
ficient reason. 

“ And do 1 not know how I love you — ten thousand times 
more than I ever loved you in the bygone time ? ” 

“ Would you have been jealous if you had not loved me ? ” 
he asked. 

“ No,” I answered. 

“ And being jealous with so much love, might you not be 
more jealous with a greater love ? ” 

“ According to logic I should be, perhaps ; but I don’t care 
for logic. It is quite enough that I am above suspecting 
you of infidelity.” 

He shook his head, smiling a little at the same time be- 
cause of my contempt for logic. 

“ It is because you are more easily guided by sentiment 
than by logic that the danger exists,” he said. 

Neither of us spoke for some moments, for I was trying 
to realize why logic should have so much importance as he 
assigned to it, and then he said : 

“ I should like to know what you would do, Doris, sup- 
posing that there were presented to you incontrovertible evi- 
dence of my perfidy.” 

“ Do you mean if I was sure you were deceiving me — that 
you really loved another woman better than you loved me } ” 

“Yes, that is what I mean.” 

The idea was purely figurative, but the thought of his lov- 
ing anyone else — of his deceiving me — obtained so strong 
a mastery over my imagination that I was stung to the quick 
— my whole frame shook, I clutched the arm of my chair 
with both hands, I felt a burning desire for revenge in my 
heart. I could not speak. I was beside myself, and turned 
round upon my husband fiercely ; but at the sight of his 
anxious face the paroxysm passed — I realized my position. 
I saw before me the one man in all the world I loved, and in 
an instant overcome with remorse, and my whole heart yearn- 
ing towards him with love, I stretched out my hands, silently 
beseeching his forgiveness. There was great pity in his 
eyes as he bent down to kiss me. 

“It takes longer than you think, love,” he said, “ for our 
natures to be remoulded.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


213 


I laughed, yet with little mirth in my heart. 

“ Why, don’t you see, dear,” I cried ; “ don’t you see that 
the very sight of you now brings me to my senses 1 ” 

“ Yes, yes, I see all,” he answered. 

“ You shall see, you shall see,” I repeated ; “ wait till the 
trial comes — if it is to come — and you shall find my faith 
strong beyond your expectation.” 

He made no comment then, but leaning forward with his 
elbows on his knees, he looked at the ground in profound 
thought. For some time he remained in that attitude, then 
suddenly, with a long sigh, he straightened himself, and turn- 
ing to me, he said, tenderly yet firmly : 

“ The trial is at hand, Doris.” 

Wonderingly I looked at him ; he stopped, and turned his 
head away, as though he could not bring himself to break 
the news to me. 

“ Trial, dear ? ” I said, in astonishment. “ What trial ? ” 

“ The trial of your fortitude and forbearance, your love 
and faith.” 

He stopped again. 

“ Why do you hesitate to tell me this ? ” I asked cheer- 
fully. “ I ask for nothing better than to prove my love for 
you and my faith. I want to show you that I am no longer 
a wayward and foolish girl. Tell me what I have to bear, 
dear.” 

“ In the first place,” he said, speaking with effort, “ you 
must settle where you would like to live.” 

“ Are we not going to Woldhurst ? ” I asked. 

“ No ; an accident has happened which makes it impos- 
sible you should live at Chislehurst.” 

That was a terrible disappointment after the pleasant 
dreams I had indulged in. But I said to myself, “ It is a 
trial to prove my love, and if that is all I have to bear it is 
but a small price to pay for my husband’s respect.” Still, I 
was curious to know why I was not to live at Chislehurst, 
and I asked Valentine what accident it was that had hap- 
pened. 

“ I cannot tell you, and you must not ask me,” he replied. 

I was more and more astonished, for Valentine was by 
nature open and frank, disliking reticence and anything like 
concealment. It was foreign to his disposition to clothe his 
actions in mystery ; as readily would he have arrayed him- 


214 


FOUND GUILTY. 


self in a long cloak and a slouched hat had he been a real 
conspirator. 

“ All this dramatic mystery perplexes you,” he said. 

“ Yes,” I replied. 

“ I am perplexed also,” he said ; “ perplexed to know what 
to do for the best in this emergency. I have chosen this 
course because it is the lesser of two evils. You must bring 
yourself to understand that I am doing that which is best for 
your peace of mind and happiness.” 

“ I am sure of that now,” said I. 

“ Then the difficulty is lightened considerably. I am not 
a Blue Beard, but there is a secret chamber that I wish you 
to avoid — that is the house at Chislehurst. If you can re- 
press your curiosity, all will go well. You shall live where 
you like ; for my own part, I think London will be the pleas- 
antest place at this time of year.” 

“ I will live in London,” I said. 

“ Good ; to-morrow we will find a pleasant home for you.” 

“ For us^' I said, startled by a sudden fear. 

“Yes,” he replied, with some hesitation, “ for us. But I 
may have to leave you frequently.” 

“ I wish you to leave me at times. I do not wish to tie you 
to my apron-strings. You must feel that I am not a clog 
upon your actions. If you wish to go out alone for a whole 
day ” 

“ I may have to leave you for several days at a time.” 

My heart fell, a chill seemed to creep over me. 

“ Cannot you tell me why you leave me when you go ? ” 
I asked. 

“No, I cannot tell you.” 

I sat silent with amazement. I saw that he watched the 
expression of my face intently. -I believe he made this 
proposal tentatively — that two courses lay open to him, and 
that he had resolved to abandon the one he had taken if he 
saw that I had not the moral courage to accept the trial 
presented. That last thought awoke my spirit. 

“ Is that all the demand you will make upon my faith and 
fortitude ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes ; that is all that I can foresee.” 

“ Then,” said I, rising quickly from the chair, “ I will accept 
this trial.” 

“ You feel sure of yourself, Doris ? ” he asked. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


215 


“ Yes,” I answered. “ I have courage and strength to prove 
my love for you. Do not doubt me. It would be cruel now 
to ask me to forego the trial.” 

He embraced me, and presently left the room. 

I have not written all that he said, or all my replies : but 
this is the substance of what passed between us on this strange 
occasion. 

When he was gone, I paced the room, trying to realize my 
true position. It was so extraordinary, that for some time 
my mind refused to accept the facts as reality ; it was like 
some strange problem which takes time to grasp and com- 
prehend. Of one thing I felt certain ; it was not a romantic 
trial of my affection and faith he proposed, like that to which 
Patient Griselda was so cruelly submitted. I knew that 
Valentine loved me too well to indulge a freak of that kind, 
even if it had been in his nature to demand a test of my love. 
The idea of such a trial had been suggested by the conver- 
sation preceding the announcement that I could not live at 
Chislehurst, and he had encouraged that view of it to recon- 
cile me to the strangeness of his proposal. 

Unintentionally I went to the window and looked out. It 
was dreary indeed out there in the road. A little breeze had 
sprung up ; one could see the fog moving under the flickering 
lights of the gas-lamps in front of the hotel. 

I was about to turn away, when I saw Valentine pass 
under the lamp. I knew it was he. He stopped, and turned 
round. The next moment a woman came quickly to his side 
— a tall, slight young woman, she I had seen on the quay 
when we landed. I could not see her face. As she came 
to his side he walked on, his hands in his pockets, and she 
beside him. I was convinced the woman was Esther Norton, 
and that through her Valentine had been apprised of the 
mysterious “ accident ” which prevented our going to Chisle- 
hurst. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


2 i6 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

I DID cry a little silently in the night, but happily I fell 
asleep, and forgot my disappointment, and the next morning 
I woke up with revived courage. I tried to appear bright 
and cheerful, without seeming to force myself. But both 
Valentine and I were constrained to some degree. That was 
only natural. As we were going to London in the train, 
Valentine showed me two or three advertisements of houses 
to let furnished, and put a pencil mark against them. What 
greatly delighted me was to see that he marked one which 
was to let for six months only ; that seemed to put a term 
upon the endurance which we had to undergo. I liked that 
advertisement better than any, and at my desire we drove 
straight from the station to Kensington, where the house was 
situated. 

We found Mr. Percival, the proprietor, at home. He was 
an artist. He had built the house himself, and furnished it 
in the strangest manner conceivable ; but it was all very 
quaint, original, and pretty, and not too large. I liked it 
exceedingly — especially when I reflected that I could not 
live there more than six months. Oddly enough, the artist 
was going to the very place we had left, Venice, where he 
intended to stay until the end of March. He said he should 
be glad to go away at once, and was only waiting to get the 
house off his hands.* This was just what Valentine required ; 
and when he saw that I was quite satisfied, he accepted the 
artist’s terms, and arrangements were made with regard to 
the servants who were to be left for our service. 

Valentine said nothing about Esther Norton and the serv- 
ants at Woldhurst, and I did not question him about them. 
I had made up my mind not to mention anything connected 
with the house at Chislehurst, feeling sure that he had suffi- 
cient reason for avoiding that subject. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


217 


We stayed at the Langham Hotel during the few days 
required by Mr. Percival for final arrangements before de- 
parture. Valentine did not leave me for any prolonged time. 
He asked me for Mr. Schlobach’s address, saying he wished 
to let the professor know where to find us when he returned 
to England. 

The same afternoon he said to me : 

“ Wouldn’t it be well to ask Miss Trevor to come and 
spend a week or two with you in London, Doris .? ” 

Knowing what was passing in his mind when he made 
this suggestion, I replied that it was not at all necessary, 
and that I was not afraid of being left alone in the new 
house. 

“ As you will, dear,” he said ; “ still, I think it would be 
agreeable to have one of your own sex to chat with some- 
times. There are plenty of spare rooms in Warburton Villa.” 

“ If you think it is advisable, that is enough, dear,” I re- 
plied ; “ I will write this afternoon.” 

“ Do,” he said, kissing my forehead, clearly gratified by 
my yielding. 

This was the only reference he made to our future separa- 
tion. 

On November the first we took possession of Warburton 
Villa. There was a great deal to amuse and interest me 
in the house : every nook and corner contained some art 
treasure that called for admiration, and it took some time to 
learn one’s way from the drawing-room up to the smoking- 
room, the library down to the dining-room, and to know 
where the things necessary for domestic use were kept. 

The servants were capable and quick ; they were pleased 
with the change, and seemed to like me, obeying me with 
great alacrity and doing their utmost to please. All that was 
very nice ; my mind was completely occupied the whole day. 
Yet at night, before I fell asleep — the time when I generally 
think, when there is anything to think about — I felt strangely 
dissatisfied, and, seeking to explain my dissatisfaction, I came 
to the conclusion that it arose from nothing but covetous- 
ness. 

“ If this house were really ours, and the servants our serv- 
ants, and the linen and plate ours, and all the nick-nacks 
and pictures belonged to us, then indeed I should be quite 
happy,” I said to myself. 


2i8 


FOUND GUILTY. 


It seemed to my mind that, after all, this house was not 
more ours than the rooms in a hotel ; and hence my discon- 
tent, which was unreasonable enough, I dare say. 

The next day was bright and fine. Just after lunch, hear- 
ing the sound of wheels in the road, Valentine looked at his 
watch and strolled to the window. 

“ Come here, Doris ; there is something to see,” he said. 

I went to his side, and, looking out, saw standing before 
the door, a charming pony-carriage : a petit Due, with two 
beautiful dappled-gray ponies, a smart boy, dressed in the 
neatest of liveries, stationed with his arms folded on his chest 
before them. 

I made some exclamation of delight. Valentine laughed 
at my ecstasies, and then said that since I liked the equipage 
so much I should have it. 

“ Is it mine ? ” I cried, clapping my hands ; and then my 
delight subsiding several degrees, I added, “ Oh yes, I under- 
stand ; you have hired it for me with the house.” 

“ No, it is yours altogether — tiger and all — for you to keep 
until the springs wear out and the tiger grows too stout for 
the back seat. You have yet to see whether the ponies go 
fast enough to please you. Drive me through the Park, and 
if you are satisfied by the time we get to Aldridge’s, I will 
give him a check, and you shall have the receipt to be sure 
the ponies are your very own.” 

I was too pleased to take notice of his badinage except by 
a hearty kiss, and I ran upstairs to dress for the drive. 

Valentine must have said to himself, seeing me so excited 
about a matter of such slight importance : 

“ She is still a child. When she is a woman it will be 
time enough to trust her with a woman’s secrets.” 

I ran down quickly, and we went out to the carriage ; 
but, before stepping in, I patted the ponies and admired 
their sleek coats, their slender legs, and pretty heads. The 
tiger touched his hat respectfully and told me their names. 
He said they went admirably in the carriage, although it 
was new to them, and added ; 

“ I hope, ma’am, if the little lot suits you, you’ll be able 
to take me into your service. I ’ve lived with the ponies for 
years, and I should be sorry to be parted from ’em, and I’ve 
a good character from my last master.” 

I promised I would engage him if the ponies pleased me, 


FOUND GUILTY. 


219 

and took my seat ; and Thomas swung himself into the little 
seat behind as the ponies dashed off. 

I had to hold the reins tight with the ponies ; they were 
not like poor old Coquelicot. The difficulty was to prevent 
them from going too fast. It was delightful to drive them, the 
more so because of the danger. When we got into Piccadilly 
and the crowded streets, my blood ran quicker and my spirits 
rose. I was very much excited. 

“ Turn to the left — mind the cab — hey, that was a narrow 
shave ! ” said Valentine, almost as excited as I was. “ That 
is Aldridge’s on the left ; put up there ; that’s it ; now what 
am I to say : that you will have ‘ the little let,’ as Thomas 
calls it ? ” 

“ Oh yes, yes ! " I answered. 

Then he went into the office, and coming out soon after- 
wards, put the receipt into my hand, laughing. 

On our way back we stopped at one or two shops in Picca- 
dilly, where we bought flowers and fruit and some things 
that the cook had asked for, and I own I felt not a little vain 
of the attention we excited. Everyone seemed to be regard- 
ing us. 

“ It is not every woman who has such a handsome husband 
as Valentine by her side, nor such an elegant equipage,” I 
said to myself. 

At the same moment that we arrived at Warburton villa, 
the postman came up. He handed two letters to Valentine, 
who opened them while the housemaid was taking from me 
the things we had purchased. 

Valentine put the letters in his pocket and looked sombrely 
at the ground for a moment, his brows knitted ; then turning 
to me, as I was about to step down from the carriage, he said : 

“ Are you too tired to take me to Victoria ? ” 

“ No,” I answered, but with less joy in my voice than I 
should have felt had the prospect been different. I knew 
instinctively that I was not to bring him back from Victoria. 

He took his seat beside me, and once more the ponies 
dashed off ; but I drove them mechanically and without 
pleasure now, for my thoughts were elsewhere. 

“ I must leave you, dearest, at Victoria,” he said in a 
low tone, when we had gone some distance. 

“ Yes, dear, I answered, with as much courage as I could 
muster. 


220 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ I shall certainly not return to-night, perhaps not to-mor- 
row. That doesn’t seem to you very terrible ” 

“ No, dear ; you have prepared me for a separation of this 
kind. But you will come back to me soon ? ” 

He pressed my hand, which I had slipped down by his 
side, and held it for a moment clasped in his, but without 
speaking. It was unnecessary to say “ yes” to such a 
needless question. 

“ I will let you know when I shall return,” he said, releas- 
ing my hand, “ so that you may come to meet me at Victoria.” 

That was a pleasure to think of ; and it came just in time 
for my heart had been giving way and I felt that the tears 
were rising. 

“ Oh, how I shall long for a message ! ” I said. ' 

I did not know the road, and 1 had to take directions 
from Thomas — “ now to the right, ’m — across the square, 
’m — fust on the left, ’m,” and the like, so that I found 
myself at Victoria before I was aware of it, by which means 
we were spared the pain of a tedious parting. 

Valentine pressed my hand and passed quickly into the 
crowded booking-office, and I had nothing then to do but 
to turn my ponies round and go home — alone. 

Alone ! alone ! That is a dreadful word for a young wife 
to repeat to herself. It filled me with an indescribable 
sense of desolation, chasing all the gaiety from my heart 
and damping my spirits effectually. 

On my way home I found myself wondering whether Val- 
entine, seeing me in such good spirits, had thought this a 
favorable opportunity for leaving me : and following this 
train of thought, which was not without a tinge of bitterness, 
I asked myself whether he had given me this equipage 
to reconcile me to the separation — as one buys a toy for a 
crying child. 

“ I would never have accepted his gift had I thought that,” 
I said to myself. 

The suspicion was unjust — I am ashamed to record it ; 
but it is necessary I should dwell upon these trifles to show 
how distrust, like an insidious disease, lay ready for develop- 
ment in my disposition. 

As I turned into the road at the end of which our house 
stood, I saw at some distance a broad-shouldered gentle- 
man, in a long Inverness cape and a broad-brimmed felt 


FOUND GUILTY. 


2 2.1 


hat, pacing slowly along the footpath with his hands folded 
behind him. It was my dear old professor ; I recognized 
him at once. Hearing the sound of wheels he faced about, 
and even at that distance I saw his face beam with a broad 
smile as he identified me, raising his fat hands at the same 
time. 

He took me in his arms and held me close to him, saying, 
“ My shild — my shild,” over and over again ; if the street 
had been full of people, and all looking at us, it would have 
made no difference to him. 

They had told him in the house that I had gone out in the 
carriage with my husband, and he had been waiting for me 
about twenty minutes. 

“Valentine sent me a telegram saying where you were 
living, and that you would be glad to see me as soon as I 
returned to England,” he said, when we were seated indoors, 
“ and I just said good-bye to my old friends and came away, 
for you are still my chil^ and there is nothing in the world 
so dear to me.” 

“ And you will stay with us and we will be very happy,” I 
said ; “ you shall see your room I have prepared for you.” 

“ Yes, I will stay with you a little time ; but,” he added, 
lowering his voice, “ I know that when two young people 
are married they like to be by themselves ; ” and he laughed 
heartily, but stopped abruptly to draw me towards him and 
kiss me again. 

“ And where is Valentine ? ” he asked, after that. 

“ He — 'he did not come back with me,” I said, rather 
foolishly. That was obvious, but I did not know what else 
to say. 

“ Well, well, all in good time ; I shall see him this even- 
ing.” 

“ No, he will not come back to-day; he is going to stay 
away a little while.” 

“ Going to stay away a little while ! ” repeated the pro- 
fessor, his eyes growing round with astonishment. “ What, 
there is some one ill ? ” 

“ No,” I said, greatly embarrassed, without knowing why. 

“ Then what is the matter ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ But where is he gone ? ” 

“ I do not know,” I repeated. 


222 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Your husband has gone away, and he has not told you 
where or why or anything ? ” he asked, still in great astonish- 
ment. 

“ No ; there are things which men cannot tell their wives 
— things they could not understand quite if they were told, 
and in that case it is wise for men to be silent.’’ 

The professor was not moved in the least by this argu- 
ment ; he continued to look at me in blank amazement. 

“ Oh, if it were worth the trouble,” I continued, “ I could 
find many reasons why Valentine should go away like this.” 

“ I wish you would take the trouble to find one, then, my 
dear, for Tcan’t understand these things at all.” 

“ Why, there is business,” I said, taxing my imagination 
as I spoke : “Valentine was a soldier, you know. His ab- 
sence may have something to do with the army. He may 
be ordered to join his regiment again, or something of that 
kind, and he would naturally think it would frighten me to 

know that his life would again be exposed ” I stopped, 

dreading lest my own suggestion might prove correct. 

“ Can you think of any other reason ? ” asked my guardian, 
still incredulous. 

“ Why, it might be that some old family friends had come 
to live at Chislehurst while we were away. Rich, grand 
people, you know, who might be unfavorably disposed towards 
me. I being so unused to society, and ignorant of their ways, 
Valentine would wish to spare me such humiliation — and — 
and ” 

I could go no farther, for I felt that if that theory were 
correct, Valentine must love me less than his fine friends, and 
that thought pierced my heart like a knife. 

Seeing me in pain, the professor’s demeanor changed at 
once. He had been walking softly to and fro, his hands 
behind him, his eyes on the ground, and his head held a 
little sideways to catch what I said. As I paused, he 
stopped before me, and laying his hand gently on my head, 
he cried : 

“What does it matter, my child, whether it is for this rea- 
son or for that he does these things ? It is stupid of me to 
ask. You know that your husband loves you, and if he loves 
you it is sure that whatever he does is the very best he can 
do for your happiness.” 

“ Yes,” I answered joyfully ; “ it must be so, mustn’t it ? ” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


223 


“ Of course it must. And would he deserve your love or 
respect or anything else if he told you what he felt he ought 
not to tell you ^ No, he wouldn’t be a man if he did that ! ” 
“ Oh, that is quite true. And Valentine is all that a strong 
man should be,” I cried more and more delighted — so quick 
were the transitions of feeling. 

“ We have known that from the first day we knew him. It 
is all right. He may be very busy — he may have fine friends 
— he may leave you for two or three days — all these things 
are nothing ; if he loves you it is everything ! ” 

“ Yes, that is everything,” I said. 

Nevertheless, I was not happy when I fell asleep that 
night. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

The next evening I received a message from my dear hus- 
band, in which he told me to meet him at Victoria. I can- 
not describe my joy. The thought of seeing the beloved face 
once more, and so soon, cleared every gloomy thought and 
care out of my mind. 

Yes, I was still a child. 

• And the professor, seeing me so delighted, was scarcely 
less happy than I. He rubbed his fat hands, said to me again 
and again, “ He loves you, and that is everything.” How 
true that was, I thought, and how really wise he was ! I 
loved him for being so ; indeed, I felt that I loved the whole 
world. 

I took myself to task for having been despondent, and for 
my want of patience ; but it seems to me that even the wisest 
of us is unreasonably influenced by present circumstances, 
and that wisdom cannot make us indifferent, for even the 
professor was different that day to what he had been the day 
before. His gaiety was not forced ; he sang little catches 
of old German student songs instead of humming tune- 
lessly. 

When the cook came to consult me about the culinary ar- 
rangements for the day, I told her that her master would be 


224 


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home to lunch, and that she was to get the very nicest repast 
she could possibly imagine ; and from her manner it was clear 
that she intended to surpass herself. The enthusiasm was 
infectious. I took care that everything should be in its place, 
and all as orderly and neat as possible, and I got to Victoria 
half an hour before the time. But that was no trouble to me. 
And then when a train came in pouring out a stream of pas- 
sengers, and I caught sight of Valentine, I could not restrain 
myself, but pushing my way through the throng, I met him, 
caught his dear hands in mine, and kissed him, not at all 
minding the smiles of those who saw me. 

It was quite early in the morning ; we encountered a body 
of soldiers — the Guards marching from St. James’s, Valentine 
said. Their band was playing spirited music ; my heart was 
in tune with it. I remember the air they played now, and 
it recalls the intense joy of that moment. 

I drove past Buckingham Palace, and there being but few 
people between there and Piccadilly, I could give my hus- 
band’s hand a furtive pinch now and then, and the pressure 
of his hand in response sent a thrill through my veins. 

“ Shall we go straight home ? ” I asked. 

“ No, let us have a good long drive, Doris ; it does one 
good,” he answered. 

So instead of turning to the left, I drove to the right. 

“We will walk through the Arcade and look at the shops,” 
said Valentine, as we approached Burlington House. 

I drew up. Thomas jumped down and held the ponies, 
and Valentine gave me his hand to alight. We walked 
through the Arcade, stopping to admire the bright things in 
the shop windows. There was a diamond bracelet that 
struck me as being very beautiful. Valentine also admired 
it, and without another thought he took me into the shop and 
bought it, paying I don’t know how many pounds for it. 

“ Now, I am longing to put it on your arm,” he whispered, 
as we went out. 

“ Shall we go home at once ? ” I asked, blushing, for I 
longed to twine my arms about his neck. 

He nodded, and, laughing at our inconsistency, we walked 
to the carriage, and I turned the horses round and drove 
rapidly home. 

The professor had gone out. I was glad of that. And 
when we were alone in the drawing-room, and he put the 


FOUND GUILTY. 


225 


bracelet on my wrist, he kissed my arm passionately, and 
with a cry of joy I snatched my arm away, flung both round 
his neck, and pressed my lips to his. Our love was like a 
stream that rushes on fuller and more impetuously through 
being stemmed for a time. 

I remember everything that happened that day. I could 
write a great deal about it. But it is not necessary here : I 
have said so much to show the state of our feelings towards 
each other at that time. 

The next day was scarcely less happy. But in the after- 
noon I said to him : 

“ You see, dear, I am none the worse for being alone a day or 
two. You need have no fear in leaving me next time. I shall 
always know you love me, and,” I added, thinking of what 
the professor said, “ that is everything.” 

“ You make it less painful to part, dear one,” he said ; “ to- 
morrow I must leave you again.” 

“ Very well, dear love,” I said, feeling that this time I 
could bear it better than the last. 

After dinner Valentine and the professor sat together in 
the smoking-room. I dare say my guardian tried to find out 
why he must go away without me ; but I am sure he learnt 
nothing ; for in the first place, if Valentine thought it unwise 
to enlighten me, he would certainly think it unwise to let 
the professor into the secret ; and secondly, if he had done 
so, the professor would have told me all about it before twelve 
hours had gone by ; for he had this weakness : he could con- 
ceal nothing. 

The next morning I took Valentine again to Victoria, but 
instead of parting abruptly, he took me on the platform with 
him, and stood with me by the carriage door until the guard 
said, “ Sevenoaks train, sir, going on.” Then he embraced 
me, and we parted with smiles. 

I was very pleased. It was now no secret that he was go- 
ins: to Chislehurst. That showed that he had more confi- 
dence in me. 

I was not unhappy in returning home. I thought that by 
degrees Valentine would break the secret to me. And it was 
not because I was inquisitive that I wished him to do so, but 
solely for the sake of being found brave, and deserving of his 
full confidence, which up to this time I certainly had not 
been. 


226 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I determined I would do nothing to shake his confidence 
nor hasten him to reveal the fact to me. All would come in 
good time, I said to myself. I could not help speculating 
on the nature of the secret ; that was only natural. When 
I had suggested to my guardian that possibly some former 
friends of Valentine’s had come to live at Chislehurst, and 
that to spare me humiliation he had thought it advisable to 
keep me away until they left, I had not believed in the 
possibility of any such thing. Indeed, I had felt indignant 
at my own supposition, which seemed to reflect false shame 
upon my husband. But now that 1 was in a more reason- 
able frame of mind, the theory did not seem to me so im- 
possible. I reflected that I was in many ways uncultivated 
and unfit to take my placeamong people of society, as they 
are called. I saw that my ignorance of polite usages would 
certainly submit me to much mortification. I should commit 
solecisms, make myself ridiculous, and suffer intensely in 
consequence. 

I had no sooner come to this conclusion than I said to 
myself, “ Why should I not occupy myself during Valentine’s 
absence in supplying the deficiencies in my education } Why 
should I not place myself on an equality in this respect with 
the people I must mingle with, and learn something instead 
of idling away my time ? ” Here was a way of shortening 
our period of forced separation, and rendering it unnecessary, 
perhaps. Of course, my supposition might be a false one, 
but the possibility of it being correct was a quite sufficient 
inducement to make the preparation. Besides, it could do 
me no harm, but, on the contrary, much good, to learn the 
ordinary accomplishments of a lady; and so it would give 
me something to think of, and prevent me fostering foolish 
and wrong fancies. 

This notion gave me great satisfaction, and I set about at 
once to put my scheme into execution. 

There was a fine piano at Warburton Villa, and Valentine 
had said to me once : 

“ It is a pity you do not play, Doris ; you might have 
found a great deal of enjoyment in music.” 

I got the Times newspaper, and going through the adver- 
tisements of musical professors willing to give lessons, and 
choosing the one I thought best, I wrote, asking the musician 
to call upon me as soon as he could. Then I turned once 


FOUND GUILTY. 


227 


more to the advertisement sheet, and found that a gentle- 
man who had the honor to instruct the nobility and gentry 
in dancing and deportment was prepared to give private 
instruction to ladies and gentlemen at their own residences. 
I wrote to him. And the very next day the musician, who 
was a very amiable lady, named Miss Jacobs, and the danc- 
ing-master, Signor Alboni, an elderly, but very agile, little 
gentleman, with the most elegant manners conceivable — 
called upon me, and we came to terms with the utmost 
facility. We lost no time, and before the next welcome 
message from Valentine came to tell me of his return, I had 
taken my first lessons. 

In making that arrangement I had consulted with Pro- 
fessor Schlobach, but without telling him the exact reason 
why I wished to learn music and dancing, and he had agreed 
with me that it would be a good thing to do. I was curious, 
though, to know how Valentine would receive the new's of 
my new occupation. I was not certain whether he would 
treat it seriously, or whether he would look upon it as a 
childish caprice and laugh at me. That I dreaded. And 
so it was with hesitation, and in a roundabout way, that I 
told him what I had done as we were driving from the 
station. 

“ Learning music, and dancing, too ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes, dear,” I answered. “ I — I want to be like other 
women in our rank of life.” 

He looked at me, with emotion visible on his fine face, 
and then he said : 

“ If other women could only make themselves like you, 
my darling ! ” 

One can imagine how my heart was transported with joy 
to hear him say this. That was encouragement to make 
anyone persevere in overcoming the difficulties of Czerny’s 
exercises. 

It is needless to dwell on our occasional separations. 
One was very much like another — except to me. I found 
diversity in them. Each time I met Valentine after a 
separation I said to myself that I had never loved him so 
well, and the next time it always seemed that I loved him 
more. It was an absorbing passion. He was ever present 
in my mind, no matter what I did. Trifling acts of every- 
day life were regulated with a consideration of his views 


228 


FOUND GUILTY. 


respecting them. Oh, the joy with which I looked forward 
to his coming, the clinging tenderness when we were together, 
and the delight of being within hand’s touch of him — a 
delight rendered more strenuous by the hidden pain of pres- 
ently parting ! I had loved him dearly before we were 
married, but that love was nothing compared with the com- 
plete and adoring passion I now felt. No;, a woman’s life 
does not begin until she is married, and I have often thought 
that those who write romances are blind to nature to make 
their stories end on the day of a girl’s marriage, leaving off 
just when the real interest of life begins. 

My love was returned. I felt that, or I could not have 
been so completely happy. I should have been more exact- 
ing. I should have sought an explanation of the thing he 
persistently kept secret. The old jealous doubtings would 
have risen in my mind had I not felt that. "My professor 
had given me a talisman to conjure with : it was-that phrase 
of his, “ If he loves you, that is everything.” 

He took pleasure in my beauty, and was never weary of 
buying presents that he thought would suit me. I myself 
needed little encouragement that way. I had a lively 
appreciation for the beauty of diamonds, and it gave me 
great happiness to adorn myself for the delight of my hus- 
band, and to enjoy his admiration. “ Are you pleased with 
me, dear ? ” I would ask. And his glowing kisses told me 
that none of his fine friends outshone me. 

In his absence I worked really hard at music, practising 
for four or five hours a day at the piano, besides taking my 
lessons of Signor Alboni. My lessons in dancing and deport- 
ment were no task at all. I found it the easiest thing in 
the world to move as he bade me, and I said to myself that 
when the time came for me to go into society, and be taken 
to balls, my husband would not find me heavy or awkward, 
or be ashamed of me. I used to dream of dancing with 
him. 

Yes, I worked hard during Valentine’s absence — it was 
necessary ; otherwise I should have made no progress at all ; 
for when he was at home I took no lessons, and did not touch 
the piano. I gave myself up to love. I begrudged every 
moment that took me from his side, and was jealous of the 
professor when he had Valentine to himself in the smokins:- 
room. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


229 


A day or two after Mr. Schlobach’s coming to us, Miss 
Trevor arrived, in answer to my invitation, and from that 
time resided with me. She had friends and relatives in 
Kensington, and somehow there was always a niece or a 
cousin to visit on those days when Valentine was with me. 
The professor also found excuses to be absent at these times, 
though never without apologies. I think there was some 
sort of understanding between the dear old people. They 
saw that we wanted to be alone — or that at least I did. 

Miss Trevor was very companionable and chatty. She 
had a long memory, and was never at a loss for a subject of 
conversation. Amongst other things, she told me that soon 
after her return to Faulcondale Mr. Everleigh had called 
upon her, and asked very kindly after me. 

“ I told him that you were married, dear,” she said, “ and 
of the terrible events that happened at that time. I also 
informed him that I was going to stay with you in London. 
He said he should like to make the acquaintance of Captain 
Bromley, and I gave him your address ; I hope I did not 
do wrong ? ” 

“ Oh no,” I exclaimed, “ I should like to see Mr. Everleigh 
again. But do you think he will call upon us ? ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

Strangely enough, the very next day I met Mr. Everleigh. 
That was on Sunday, the 14th of November. The afternoon, 
though dull, was clear and dry, and I took my favorite drive 
through the Park with the professor for a companion. We 
were returning through Park Lane when a gentleman crossed 
the road at some distance before us. 

Hearing the approaching wheels, he turned his head, and 
I perceived at once that it was Mr. Everleigh. He did not 
seem to recognize me, however, until I drew in by the pave- 
ment near him. 

“ Mrs. Bromley ! ” he exclaimed, taking off his hat, and 


230 


FOUND GUILTY. 


offering his hand. “ Pardon me — I must be short-sighted 
indeed not to have seen you. 

He shook hands with Mr. Schlobach, and stood by the 
carriage with us for some minutes. 

“ I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you, Mrs. 
Bromley,” he said, “ at a proper season.” 

This was just in keeping with his nice observance of con- 
ventional formalities. I laughed, and told him I thought 
every season was proper for friends to see each other, and 
added that I was sure my husband would be as glad as I to 
see him at Warburton Villa. 

“ In that case I shall take a very early occasion to call. 
At what hour am I most likely to find Captain Bromley at 
home ? ” 

Valentine had told me before going away that he should 
return on Monday morning. 

“ We shall be at home to-morrow afternoon,” I said. 

“ To-morrow afternoon, then, I hope to have the pleasure 
of making Captain Bromley’s acquaintance.” 

We shook hands, and I drove off, feeling proud that he 
should see my equipage with the spirited ponies, and look- 
ing forward with satisfaction to his visit, in order that he 
might see how fortunate I was in having such a husband as 
Valentine. If I had possessed broader views, a more generous 
spirit, I should have said to myself : 

“ My husband’s happiness will be a source of chagrin to 
this friend ; the sight of my prosperity will provoke the cruel 
reflection that I have done well in not marrying him. This 
is an unfair return to him for having offered to make me his 
wife when I was less fortunate.” 

But no such thoughts entered my vain head at that time. 

I told Valentine when we met of the visit we were to re- 
ceive, and made fun of Mr. Everleigh with his pragmatic ways 
and near sight. Valentine laughed. 

“ We must keep the professor at home to talk to him,” he 
said, “ for I know nothing about cockroaches.” 

I took great pains with my toilet, in view of my mean little 
triumph ; but I was properly punished. Mr. Everleigh did 
not come. 

We saw nothing of him during the week, but on the fol- 
lowing Monday he called, and then Valentine was absent, 
having left London on Sunday. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


23 


I was taking my music lesson when the servant brought me 
his card. I found him in conversation with Miss Trevor, 
upon going into the reception-room. 

“ I owe you many apologies, IV^rs. Bromley,” he said. 
“ Miss Trevor tells me you stayed at home last Monday to 
receive me. Had I known that I should have sent to tell 
you of the obstacle that prevented me giving myself the 
pleasure of a visit. I concluded that Monday was your day 
for receiving visits, and ” 

I begged him not to apologize, and added that I was very 
sorry my husband happened to be away from home just then, 
speaking as if it were the merest accident in the world, for I 
did not wish him to know that Valentine was frequently 
absent. 

“ It is a pleasure postponed,” said he. “ I am very anxious 
to know Captain Bromley, and I shall seek an occasion of 
making his acquaintance, even at the risk of making myself 
troublesome. That does not astonish you, Mrs. Bromley ? ” 

“ No,” I replied ; “ all that concerns our friends should 
interest us.” 

“ Yes ; but there is another reason. A man forms a con- 
ception of individuals before seeing them by the mere asso- 
ciation of ideas, and as his conception is favorable or the 
reverse, he seeks to know those persons intimately, or avoids 
them altogether. That is why I wish particularly to make a 
friend of Captain Bromley.” 

I was pleased with this compliment to my husband. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, rising and approaching a picture on 
the wall, “ that is a sketch of Leighton’s, unless I am mis- 
taken.” 

“ Yes, and this is a real Meissonier,” I replied, going further 
along to point out a tiny panel, on the extraordinary merits 
of which Mr. Percival had dwelt in showing us the house. 

Mr. Everleigh had to bring his face within a few inches 
of the picture to see it thoroughly ; still scanning it, he said ; 

“ I am not mistaken ; Captain Bromley is an artist.” 

“Oh no,” said I, laughing; “he is a soldier — a cavalry 
officer.” 

“ I have heard that ; it is his artistic taste I refer to ; 
without that, even a successful painter is not an artist.” 

“Then I am sure my husband is an artist, for. all his 
tastes are good,” I said confidently. 


232 


FOUND GUILTY. 


He inclined his head in acquiescence, and proceeded to 
examine the line of pictures, making comments upon them 
which seemed to me very just and astute. Meanwhile, Miss 
Trevor put on her glasses, and resumed her embroidery by 
the window. 

At the other end of the room was a portfolio of engravings 
on a stand. 

“ Etchings ! ” said Mr. Everleigh. ‘‘ Will you allow me to 
look at them ? ” 

He placed a chair for me, and seated himself by the 
portfolio. 

“ It must have taken a long while to form such a mag- 
nificent collection,” he said, after expatiating on the merits 
of the etchings. 

“ Yes, a long while,” said I. 

If he had introduced Valentine’s name I must have told 
the truth out, and let him know that the collection had come 
into his hands in something less than an hour; but I did not 
wish to destroy Mr. Everleigh’s good opinion of Valentine, 
nor did I wish to let him know that we were only staying in 
the house temporarily. That would have involved an ex- 
planation which my vanity shrank from. I had not hinted 
even to Miss Trevor that this was not our real home. 

“ How fond a man must be of a home, having furnished it 
in this" way,” he said, “ surrounding himself with refining 
treasures that keep his mind pure and noble ! Each of these 
beautiful works is a rivet in the golden chain that keeps him 
a willing prisoner to his own fireside. A wife’s surest hap- 
piness lies in her husband’s affection for his home. An 
idle man, with no strong interest of this kind, is inevitably 
tempted to seek variety abroad ; and there,” he added, with 
a sigh, “ is the beginning of the greatest misery which can 
befall him and the one whose fate is linked to his.” 

I knew that he meant to felicitate me upon my lot, and 
render homage to Valentine, but his words inspired me with 
uneasiness. 

“ I knew a poor wretch who attributed all his misery — the 
loss of a wife who died with a broken heart, the degradation 
of his children, his own moral and physical ruin — simply to 
the fact that he had never made a home for his wife before 
he married. That is the solemn duty, as'it seems to me, of 
every man. I believe that all the unhappiness of Parisian 


FOUND GUILTY. 


233 


home life — indifference, neglect, infidelity — arises from the 
vicious disregard of the home. It is significant that they 
have no equivalent for that beautiful word ‘ home.’ I con- 
gratulate you, Mrs. Bromley, on having a husband, whose 
tastes assure your happiness.” 

I felt excessively uncomfortable. I did not know what 
reply to make. 

“ You — you have a very high esteem for the love of art ? ” 
I stammered. 

He was looking closely at a print ; he passed it to me, 
pointing to the legend below. 

The picture represented a villainous rascal scowling over 
his shoulder at a young musician ; underneath was written : 
“ The man that hath no music in himself ... is fit for 
treasons, stratagems, and spoils ... let no such man be 
trusted.” 

“ If ‘ art ’ were substituted for ‘ music ’ the quotation 
would be not less true,” said Mr. Everleigh, closing the port- 
folio and rising. 

We joined Miss Trevor, and he told her about his journey 
to Algeria — the country — the people — the specimens of flies 
he had collected, which he wished to show Mr. Schlobach, 
and other things. Miss Trevor happily sustained the con- 
versation ; I could not take any interest in his description, 
although I dare say it would have amused me at another 
time. What he had said about the home, and its influence 
upon men, was echoing in my mind, and I could not rid my- 
self of the uncomfortable impression his words made. And 
then I asked myself whether he was quite right about art : 
whether a man could not be good and loving and free from 
base designs, and yet have no artistic taste in his soul. Mr. 
Schlobach’s eulogies upon Mr. Everleigh’s sound sense, and 
my own ignorance upon serious matters, had led me to enter- 
tain the highest opinion of his judgment ; but I was forced 
to doubt his accuracy now, because he certainly took greater 
interest in the pictures than ever Valentine had shown, and 
I could not allow that Valentine was less worthy than he. 

The more I thought about these things the less I liked 
them, and the more abstracted I became. So, out of polite- 
ness to my visitor, I resolved to lay aside my reflections and 
attend to what was being talked about. 

“ Yes, my poor brother lies there,” Mr. Everleigh was say- 


234 


FOUND GUILTY. 


ing, “ the second who has died of consumption, besides a 
sister. We are but two now.” 

“ You have another brother ? ” asked Miss Trevor. 

“No; I have a sister. Poor girl! she might envy the 
sister that is gone.” 

I wondered what the cause of the trouble might be, but 
Mr. Everleigh spoke in a tone of such deep regret that I felt 
it would be cruel to probe his wound. Miss Trevor, how- 
ever, had no such compunction, or her curiosity overcame it. 

“ Is your sister very ill, sir ” she asked. 

“ No ; on the contrary, she enjoys perfect health at pres- 
ent.” 

“ She is single, I suppose } ” Miss Trevor said tentatively. 

“ No ; I would she were, Miss Trevor,” he replied ; “ she 
married while I was in Algeria. It was a secret marriage. 
I knew nothing about it until she had made the fatal step. 
She is quite a young girl ; her husband is a middle-aged man, 
with just enough money to enable him to lead an idle life. 
I had a slight acquaintance with him ; my sister and I met 
him occasionally at the house of a friend. We were never 
intimate, although he endeavored to make himself agreeable 
to me. There was something in him I did not like. He 
was what is called a man of the world, and he did not seem 
to me to be a man of high principle. It was because of my dis- 
like that my sister concealed h3r affection for him from me, and 
finally married him clandestinely. When I came home from 
Algeria, I found Kate living in furnished apartments at 
Highgate. It was a good house, furnished with some pre- 
tension to style. There was nothing to complain of in that 
respect. Still, it was not a home as wives regard it.” 

“ Ah ! a home is very necessary to the happiness of married 
people,” said Miss Trevor. 

“ That is exactly what I have been saying to Mrs. Bromley. 
My sister was alone. Naturally my first inquiry was for her 
husband. He was out, she told me with hesitation ; she 
could not say when he would return. Thinking that he had 
gone away to avoid me, I explained to the poor girl that I 
bore no animosity towards her husband, and that my wish 
was to see them living happily together. I called again upon 
my sister three days after — her husband was again absent, 
but she assured me eagerly that he had been home in the 
interval and stayed a whole day. The poor thing spoke of 


FOUND GUILTY. 


235 


that one day with exultation that raised my suspicion. I 
questioned her as delicately as I could, and elicited the fact 
that her husband was more frequently away from his home 
than in it. Now what should you say to that, ma’am ? ” he 
asked, striking his knee and looking at Miss Trevor. 

Miss Trevor did not look up from her work, but her fingers 
were idle, and I saw she w^as greatly embarrassed to reply. 
She was thinking of me. There were parts of this history 
which coincided with mine strangely. I was terribly eager 
to know the continuation, and yet I dreaded it. 

“ Business might take him away,” urged Miss Trevor 
timidly. “ Captain Bromley, for example, leaves us occa- 
sionally, having duties to attend to in connection with his 
regiment.” 

(It was thus I had explained Valentine’s absence to Miss 
Trevor.) 

“ That is quite another matter,” said Mr. Everleigh ; 
“ while a man holds a commission in the army, he is com- 
pelled to be at his post when duty calls him ; but what 
should you say, Mrs. Bromley,” he asked, turning to me, “ if 
your husband had retired from active service and quitted you 
as if he still held his commission ? Would you not suspect 
something — would you be blind to the fact which must be 
palpable to everyone else ? ” 

Happily my back was to the light, or he must have seen 
that I was agitated greatly. It was not a supposititious 
case he laid before me, but the case as it existed. Valentine 
nq longer held a commission. I knew that it was no military 
duty that took him away. If I had only kept a clear head 
and remembered Mr. Schlobach’s axiom, I should have an- 
swered, “ That I could suspect my husband of no ill while 
I loved him.” But I was a fool and bewildered, and could 
say nothing intelligible. 

He took my indistinct utterance to mean that I agreed with 
him. 

“Of course you would ! You would say — That man is a 
traitor ! ” 

That terrible word “ traitor ” rose to my lips ; it had 
almost escaped me. I clenched my teeth and buried my 
finger-nails in the palm of my hands in the effort to control 
myself. 

“ That is what anyone with any knowledge of the world and 


236 


FOUND GUILTY. 


human nature would say,” he pursued : “ but Kate is a child, 
a school-girl, with a girl’s ignorance of real life ; she is in- 
fatuated, poor little soul, and her simple, confiding nature is 
a toy for this man to play with. I know not what pretence 
he makes for leaving her alone. Perhaps he scarcely thinks 
it worth while to make any, but simply trusts to her blind 
faith in him. What does it matter to him, so long as he 
can amuse himself for a few hours with her and get away 
when her love palls upon his senses and his jaded spirit craves 
for variety.” 

“ But are you sure, sir, that it is not some affair of busi- 
ness, some occupation which cannot well be explained to 
such a simple girl as your sister, that obliges him to leave 
her ? ” asked Miss Trevor in some agitation. 

“ Oh, I have settled that beyond doubt,” answered Mr. 
Everleigh ; “ the mystery, like most of that kind, was easy 
enough to unravel. I followed him one day — my sister might 
have done the same at any time, had she not been so com- 
pletely trusting, and so hoodwinked and governed by her 
husband — I followed, and found that he is actually married 
to another woman.” 

“ Married ! ” I exclaimed. 

“ Surely, sir, he has not committed the crime of bigamy,” 
said Miss Trevor. 

“ He has done so, and that adds to the difficulty of the 
case; a common liaison might have been set aside, and the 
man might have been reclaimed; there would be hope, 
though an unsatisfactory one, of some future arrangement 
between poor Kate and him. But that is out of the ques- 
tion.” 

“ But the second wife has no right to the title ; she is — she 
is nothing,” said Miss Trevor. 

“ That is too true. Unfortunately, my sister is the second 
wife.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” 

“Yes, I have made inquiries, and find that this man was 
married ten years ago. He was then in poor circumstances 
and his wife left him. Now that she finds he has money, 
andean support her in idleness and luxury, she claims her 
rights to be recognized as his wife.” 

“ It is most extraordinary ! ” 

“ Pardon me, it is most common, my lawyer tells me. He 


FOUND GUILTY. 


237 


assures me that cases of this kind are constantly occurring : 
a wife forsakes her husband in a period of poverty, and turns 
up again when he has acquired a fortune.” 

“ And your sister, sir, what are her feelings now 1 ” 

“ They are yet unaltered. I dare not tell her.” 

“ Poor young wife, it will break her heart ! ” 

“ I would it might,” said Mr. Everleigh earnestly. “ If this 
news could kill her it would be a mercy to tell her all and at 
once. But I fear a worse result than that.” 

“A worse result, sir, surely none exists?” said Miss 
Trevor. 

“Yes, far worse. She may reconcile herself to living a 
dishonored life, that is what I fear. Women — I speak of 
the feebler sort, such as my sister — have not the nice sense 
of honor that prevailed in purer days. I doubt if any woman 
now dies of shame and despair, except in romances. They 
overcome fine feelings, they are taught to look upon them as 
strained sentiments, a poetic life that has nothing in common 
with our everyday existence. If they are provoked to rage, 
finding themselves the dupe of a scoundrel, the feeling is but* 
momentary — it passes away ; the old feeling of affection 
revives, they forgive the man who has dishonored them, 
and too frequently are willing to resume friendship with 
their betrayers. This is a fact : it is so in nine cases out of 
ten.” 

“ No,” I cried, interrupting him, for I felt that he wronged 
me in this aspersion upon my sex ; “ no, it is not a fact ! A 
woman will not forgive the man who dishonors her, who 
cheats her, and makes her his toy. She will hate him, she 
will take his life if it is in her power. She will never, never 
forgive that wrong.” 

I had risen to my feet, and spoke with intense passion, 
for I put myself in the place of Mr. Everleigh’s sister, and 
the wrong done to her was felt by me. I sat down with rage 
in my heart, and trembling from head to foot. 

Miss Trevor and Mr. Everleigh both seemed frightened 
by this exhibition of passion, and at once dropped the 
subject. 


238 


FOUND GUILTY, 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

“Well, Doris, what is it?” asked Valentine, as we were 
driving home from Victoria Station. 

“ What do you mean, dear ? ” I asked, conscious that the 
color was rising in my face. 

“What is the matter? that is what I mean,” he said, 
smiling. 

“ Nothing,” I replied. “ Why do you ask? ” 

. “ Because you are not so bright as when you were taking me 
away from home, and generally it is quite the other way 
about. You are thoughtful and quiet — has anything hap- 
pened ? ” 

“ No, dear.” 

“ No one called ? ” 

“ Mr. Everleigh called.” 

“ Ah, ah ! ” he exclaimed, pretending to look grave. “ My 
learned rival ! His discourse has not given you reason to 
regret having married a dull soldier, who treats insects — 
especially mosquitoes — as an unnecessary plague ? ” 

“ Don’t be a goose,” I said, half amused, and yet fretfully. 

“ And what had he to say for himself ? ” he asked, changing 
his tone. 

“ He told me a very unhappy story about his sister ; and I 
think that is what makes me a little quiet.” 

“ In that case we will not talk about it ; we do not want to 
be quiet now.” 

I made an effort to shake off the gloom that weighed upon 
my spirits, and be gay ; but it was en effort. I had to search 
for subjects of interest to talk about, whereas ordinarily the 
ideas came only too fast, so that my words wouldn’t keep pace 
v/ith the flood of things I wanted to tell my husband about. 
I had to try and recall what had made me so lively on pre- 
vious occasions, that I might dip again in the same source. 
And all the time I was conscious that Valentine saw through 


FOUND GUILTY. 


239 

me, and knew I was ill at ease. That made it all the mote 
difficult to appear easy. 

I did not know what was the matter with me. I could not 
explain it to myself except in the way I had accounted for it 
to Valentine. 

Mr. Everleigh had made an impression on my mind which 
I could not possibly efface. The story of his sister was con- 
stantly in my mind, no matter what I was doing. I thought 
my feeling was simply sympathy with an unfortunate girl, 
whose position in some respects resembled mine, nothing else. 
I would not see any resemblance between the girl’s husband 
and Valentine. It had not yet come to that. Yet I suppose 
the idea of such a resemblance, though unacknowledged, 
existed in my mind, and was the real cause of my depres- 
sion. The feeling was like the symptoms that forerun the 
breaking out of a disease. 

But what perplexed and troubled me beyond everything 
was the strange disposition of my heart towards Valentine, 
and the wild fluctuations of hot and cold emotion : at one 
moment feeling the need of his dear embraces, and the next 
a certain repugnance even to the touch of his hand. Thus it 
was after lunch. 

Insensibly I had led the conversation to the subject of 
home love. 

‘^Mr. Percival,” I said, “must have been very fond of his 
home to have given so much care to beautifying it.” 

“ Yes,” Valentine answered carelessly. “ I imagine he 
thought of nothing else but painting pictures and spending 
his money on gim-cracks. It is a very respectable virtue, I 
dare say ; but it seems to me a man must have very limited 
ideas who has but those two objects in view.” 

“ It is not the object of your life,” I said. 

“Well hit, Doris,” he replied, laughing. “ It is not the 
object of my life, and that is why I find fault with it, doubt- 
less. One overlooks one’s own defects in looking for the 
defects of others. My training has always been the other 
way, and I have learnt to disregard home comforts, never 
having had any, and constantly changing my quarters. One 
set of chambers is pretty much like another, yet there is 
some diversity in the surrounding neighbors, and that is the 
great charm. One always looked forward to variety in chang- 
ing from one garrison to another.” 


240 


FOUND GUILTY. 


A chill crept over me. My fingers were cold as I clasped 
them on my lap. 

“ And you — you prefer that variety to being constantly in 
the same place ? ” I said with difficulty. 

“I should think so ! Fancy being stuck for perpetuity at 
Chatham,” he replied, misapprehending my meaning ; then 
he continued, looking round the room, and following the pre- 
vious train of thought : “ I can understand a man surround- 
ing himself with pleasant things — furniture and decorations 
in good taste ; that is as natural as preferring bright faces to 
dull ones ; but that which I do not understand is the infatua- 
tion of a man for covering his walls with pictures which from 
their very costliness he cannot lay aside and replace with 
fresh ones. To look at the same pictures for three hundred 
and sixty-five days in the year, and from the beginning of one 
decade to the end of the next, is, to my mind, as bad as hav- 
ing no pictures at all. The eye must get accustomed to them, 
and they have nO value but to gratify the ostentatious desire 
of showing the world that one has a finer collection than the 
majority of individuals can display.” 

I said to myself : 

“ I wonder if my face is growing dull, and if it is dull will 
he find it natural to prefer brighter ones ? And if he sees 
nothing in a picture to admire after the first glance, shall I 
charm his eyes ? — will he want to look at me all the days in 
the year, from the beginning 'to the end of our married 
lives ? ” These fancies wrung my heart for a moment, and 
then my pride was stung with the notion that he rated me as 
little better than a picture, inasmuch as he might afford to 
lay me aside and replace me with another. Suspicions so 
madly unjust could only take possession of a heart strongly sus- 
ceptible of jealousy : they held mine and rankled it. And as 
I looked at my husband then I could see nothing in him to 
love, but rather a nature that might be hated with the most 
intense malignity. 

He was smoking a cigarette ; as he turned to lay the ash 
in a tray he caught sight of me, and his eyes were riveted in 
a moment on my face. 

I shrank like a guilty creature before the frank, open gaze 
of those penetrating eyes that read my soul’s secret. I knew 
that I had wronged him : and oh ! a selfish joy elated me in 
the knowledge that I had so wronged him, and that he was 


FOUND GUILTY. 


241 


good and generous and above suspicion ; and that, mingled 
with the shame and remorse I felt at the same time in being 
discovered, overcame me, and I burst into tears. He did 
not move from his seat, he did not speak. I thought he was 
angry, and meant to punish me. I could not bear that. I 
rose, and went to him, still covering my face with my hands. 
He took me upon his knee, circling me with his arms, and, 
as I laid my cheek upon his breast, I kissed his coat, and 
felt I was scarcely worthy to do that. 

“ You don’t feel well to-day, love,” he said soothingly. 

I shook my head, still not daring to look at him. I was 
glad to be misunderstood ; I dared not tell him the truth. 

“Will you lie down for an hour or two, or would you like 
better to go out ? ” he asked. 

“ Go out,” I answered, wiping my tears away. 

He kissed me, kept me a little longer in his arms, talking 
to me tenderly and cheerfully, and then, after a parting hug, 
I ran away, and dressed to go out, while he sent for the 
carriage. 

We went out, and I was happy. The little storm had 
cleared away the heavy, morbid fancies, and done me good. 
He did not refer to what had happened, nor did I. He was 
unenlightened as to the cause of this outburst, for Miss 
Trevor was silent about Mr. Everleigh — unaccountably so, it 
seemed to me. Perhaps Mr. Everleigh’s story had suggested 
a parallel to her mind, and she felt it best to keep her 
thoughts to herself. 

“ Don’t stick too closely to the music, Doris dear,” Valen- 
tine said, when he was leaving me on Friday. “ It will be 
learnt easier with a light heart. Get out as. much as pos- 
sible, and look on the hopeful side of things without fear of 
disappointment.” 

There was a significance in these words which was not 
lost upon me. He could see by my face how hopeful he had 
made me. 

It was on Saturday that Mr. Everleigh called again. He 
had a small box in his hands. It contained specimens of the 
insects he had collected in Algeria, and he had called to leave 
them for Mr. Schlobach. This, he explained, was the object 
of his visit. 

The professor had gone as usual to spend the afternoon in 
the reading-room of the British Museum ; it w^ould not be 

16 


242 


FOUND GUILTY. 


long now before he returned. I asked Mr. Everleigh to stay 
until he came in. 

Miss Trevor’s manner was very cold and reserved. I 
think she disapproved of this visit so soon after the last. 
Perhaps she had seen how miserable I had been made by the 
history of his sister, and feared that he would renew my 
trouble. Mr. Everleigh, however, made no reference to the 
subject — rather he avoided it, conscious that it had produced 
an unpleasant impression upon me. I thought that possibly 
he had called to counteract the unfavorable effect of his pre- 
vious visit. He had made no comment when he heard that 
Valentine was again absent, but simply expressed his regret 
in being so unfortunate in his time of calling. 

I think I have said before that Mr. Everleigh had a re- 
markable power of making himself agreeable. He talked 
well, and with ease, and chose subjects of conversation to 
interest those he talked with. He had a fund of anecdotes 
applicable to any theme, and that afternoon he was particu- 
larly agreeable. 

Miss Trevor gradually unbent, and joined with good-will 
in the conversation, when we began to talk about old times 
at Faulcondale. Old times were a subject that she and I 
were fond of discussing, and Mr. Everleigh’s wonderful 
memory furnished us with abundant incident for small talk. 
Altogether w^e found his company very pleasant, and he re- 
vived the good feeling we had felt for him in the days when 
his visits to Faulcondale were a real pleasure to us. 

We had been laughing over the recollection of a ludicrous 
incident that occurred to the professor when he and Mr. 
Everleigh were out on the hills with their nets, and our 
voices were for a moment lulled, when we heard a knock at 
the street door. 

“ Ah, there is Mr. Schlobach ! ” said Miss Trevor, looking 
at her watch. 

“ No,” I cried, springing to my feet joyfully. “It is Val- 
entine. Only he knocks like that.” 

And without a thought of propriety I ran out of the room 
and downstairs. It was Valentine. I was overjoyed to see 
him, for J had received no intimation of his coming. 

“ Come in here, love,” I said, drawing him into the library. 
“ Mr. Everleigh is in the drawing-room.” 

I did not want to lose the delight of a long embrace ; Mr. 
Everleigh might wait for us. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


243 


Valentine explained that he had only just time to catch thd 
train, or he would have sent a telegram in the ordinary way, 
that I might meet him at the station. 

“ What does it matter, dear, so that you are here ? ” I said. 

The joy of meeting lasted a long while. At length Valen- 
tine said : 

“We mustn’t forget your old friend. Let us go up, or he 
may escape me again, as he did the first time we came under 
the same roof.” 

We went upstairs. Miss Trevor was knitting with com- 
posure by the window. She was alone. 

“ Why, where is Mr. Everleigh ? ” I asked. 

Miss Trevor looked at me in astonishment, and, taking off 
her spectacles, said : 

“ Why, he has been downstairs with you, has he not ? ” 

“ No; we have been in the library, and have seen nothing 
of him,” I replied. 

With many exclamations of surprise she told us that he 
had followed me almost immediately, as she had concluded, 
to be introduced to Captain Bromley. 

It was odd. We went down in the hall, and looked in the 
reception-room ; it was empty. Mr. Everleigh’s hat was gone 
from the hall where he had left it, and he was gone also. For 
the second time he had vanished, as it were, at the sight of 
Valentine. 

We were at a loss to account for his extraordinary con- 
duct. 

“ It is the eccentricity of genius,” said Valentine, laughing. 

“ But Mr. Everleigh is not eccentric,” I said. 

“ Then he will need an extra amount of genius to give a 
satisfactory excuse for his impoliteness,” he responded ; and 
with that he dismissed the subject from his thoughts. But 
it perplexed the rest of us whenever we thought of it. That 
is not strange. For we knew Mr. Everleigh as he was — a 
young, good-looking man, well-dressed, and exceedingly care- 
ful in behavior ; whereas Valentine, I knew, had formed a 
quite different conception. He spoke of him always as if he 
were an elderly, grotesque, and somewhat ridiculous person- 
age. Perhaps at some titne he had come in contact with a 
near-sighted naturalist of odd appearance and quiet habits 
(like Mr. Schlobach, in fact), and loosely classed all men of 
science in the same category. Be that as it may, Valentine 


244 


FOUND GUILTY. 


never once referred to the strange disappearance during the 
day, and I was too happy in his society then to give more 
than a passing thought to it. 

It was foggy on Sunday ; we did not go out of the house, 
and we had no reason to regret being imprisoned, for we were 
together, and the bright fire was not more cheerful than we. 

Early on Monday morning Valentine received a telegram. 
He read it through and then, thrusting it in his pocket, rose 
and said : 

“ I must leave you at once, dear.” He looked at his watch : 

Do you think it fine enough to take me to the station t ” 

Of course it was ; no weather was too bad in my opinion 
for me to go anywhere with my husband. I sent for the 
carriage, and ran up to dress, while Valentine went to his 
room to change his dressing-gown for his morning coat. 

On our way to the station, seeing him in his grave mood, 
I ventured to say : 

“ There is nothing serious, dear, in the news you have 
received .? ” 

“ No, no,” he said, as if it were nothing which might not 
be arranged. “ It takes me away from you a few hours sooner 
than I intended ; that is one unpleasantness. I must have 
gone away in the afternoon.” 

I said no more upon the subject, though, of course, I won- 
dered much. I could not help that. It was something more 
than idle curiosity I had to overcome. 

Shortly after I had returned to Warburton Villa the house- 
maid brought me a crumpled sheet of buff paper. 

“ If you please, ma’am,” she said, “ I found this on the floor 
of master’s dressing-room. I think it must have fallen out of 
Mr. Bromley’s dressing-gown pocket when I was moving it.” 

Without thinking what I was doing, I opened the paper 
and glanced at it. I had certainly no wrong intention in 
reading it. Had I reflected for a moment, I should have seen 
that this was the telegram he had received, and purposely 
avoided reading it. The act was done before I was aware of 
the consequences. This was the message : 


“ To yALENTINE BrOMLEY, Esq., 
Warburton Villa, 

Kensington. 


“ From 


■» 

Chislehurst. 


“ I am in danger. I have seen him. Come at once.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


245 

Who was the anonymous sender of this telegram ? Who 
the person to whom it referred ? What danger was immi- 
nent? Was Valentine also menaced? These were some of 
the questions that occurred to me, and gave my mind no 
rest. 

Between four and five o’clock another telegram came, and 
this was for me. I knew it could come from no one but 
Valentine, and I broke it open in feverish haste. The mes- 
sage ran thus : 


“ From 

Valentine Bromley, 
Woldhurst, 

Chislehurst. 


“ To 

Mrs. Bromley, 

Warburton Villa, 

Kensington. 


“ Come to me here. A train leaves Victoria for Bickley at 
five minutes past six. A carriage will be waiting for you at 
Bickley.” 


With a cry of delight I set myself to read it again. It was 
quite plain there could be no mistake. I was to go to my 
husband at Chislehurst. 

“ Now,” I said to myself, “ I shall know all ! There is to 
be an end of the mystery, with all the cruel doubts it has 
raised in my foolish mind ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

I RAN upstairs and put that wonderful telegram in Miss 
Trevor’s hands, and, while she was spelling it out, I threw 
my arms around the professor’s neck, laughing, with the 
tears in my eyes. No wonder they looked at me with such 
astonishment. I was beside myself with joy. 

“ I am very glad ; yes, I am very glad indeed,” said Mr. 
Schlobach. “ All is well that ends well. Love makes light 
of hardships ; but you have borne a great deal, and if you 
had not loved your husband well enough to have faith in 
him, then you would have been very unhappy, my child.” 


246 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I saw now that this dear old friend had been much con- 
cerned for me during the past weeks, though he had pre- 
tended to take Valentine’s frequent absence as a matter of 
course, and in no way surprising. And as it was the most 
difficult thing for him to be silent where his feelings were 
concerned, and to conceal anything, he must have regarded 
the state of things with extraordinary anxiety. 

I did not give myself time to make this reflection then. In 
a flutter of excitement I went to my room, and prepared for 
departure. How should I dress ? That was the first ques- 
tion. In the dress Valentine most admired, I decided. Then 
I should be sure of his approval, no matter how far beneath 
the standard of excellence it appeared in the eyes of his 
fashionable friends. For friends of that sort I was convinced 
he had, and I should doubtless meet them. Then what 
should I take with me } Not a great deal, lest it might hap- 
pen that my stay at Chislehurst was to be only of short dura- 
tion. If, as I believed in my heart, I was to stop there and 
make it my real home henceforth, it would be quite easy to 
send for the rest of my clothing. I would take my diamonds, 
certainly. I might have to wear them that very evening. I 
put the cases at the bottom of my travelling bag. I must 
take a dress for the morning — it was not probable I should 
have to leave Woldhurst before that. I went to my ward- 
robe, and looking at my dresses, I considered which it would 
be best to take. As I thought of my house, with the beauti- 
ful woods about it, I thought perhaps that Valentine would 
propose a walk in the country — the thing I most desired. I 
seemed to hear the rustling of the autumn leaves under my 
feet, and catch the fragrance that rose from them. I caught 
sight of the close-fitting black merino dress I had worn in 
the old time at Faulcondale, which I had kept for the sake 
of old associations, and because Valentine liked it. I gave 
it to the maid to pack in with the indispensable things she 
had already collected, and my French shoes. 

When all my arrangements were made, I went downstairs, 
where Miss Trevor had prepared tea. I could eat nothing, 
but I drank a cup of tea, talking to the professor and Miss 
Trevor with such volubility that they had no opportunity to 
say anything but yes and no. And I continually looked at 
my watch, and then at the timepiece, to be sure I was not 
mistaking the time. I got to Victoria long before the train 


FOUND GUILTY. 


247 

Started. I bought some papers, thinking I would sit down 
quietly in the waiting-room and read them. But that was 
out of the question. I did not even grasp the sense of the 
legend under a humorous illustration in Punch., and the rest 
of the papers might have been written in Hebrew, for any 
idea their contents carried to my mind. 

How my heart beat when the train at length stopped at 
Bickley, and I stepped on to the platform ! I thought that 
perhaps Valentine would be there to meet me ; but I looked 
for him in vain. Whilst I was thus looking to the right and 
left along the platform, a coachman in livery came forward, 
and, touching his hat, said : 

Beg pardon, ma’am, but are you Mrs. Bromley t ” 

“ Yes,” I answered eagerly. 

“ The carriage is waiting for you outside, ma’am,” he said ; 
and taking my bag, he accompanied me through the station 
into the road, where a brougham with bright lighted lamps 
was standing. “ Any other luggage, ma’am ? ” he asked, as 
he closed the door. 

I said “ No.” He touched his hat again, got up into his 
seat, and the next minute the wheels began to move with a 
pleasant sound in the moist gravel. Then we ran on to the 
hard road, and the sound was pleasanter still to my ears. 
“At such a pace,” I said to myself, “we shall quickly reach 
Woldhurst.” 

We soon got away from the houses and into a road where 
there were gas lamps at long intervals. The evening was 
still, and even at this distance from London there was a fog, 
or it might have been only a thick mist. The lights along 
the road appeared dull and hazy ; I could see nothing beyond 
them. Only the reins of the driver, his hands, and the dash- 
board in front, were clear through the window in front. 
Nevertheless, it was cheerful with the quick beat of the 
horses’ hoofs, and the muffled rumbling of the wheels, and 
the pleasant anticipation that occupied my thoughts. 

As Valentine had not come to meet me, I presumed that 
he had friends to entertain.' I was not a bit afraid of 
meeting them. I felt sure that I should do nothing that 
would make my husband blush for me. I had learnt how to 
enter a room, and how to receive visitors. Perhaps they 
would admire me, and then my husband would be proud of 
me. One thing delighted me above others — the coachman 


248 


FOUND GUILTY. 


had asked if I had no other luggage. Evidently Valentine 
intended me to stay, or he would not have instructed the 
man to look after my affairs. “ All is well that ends well,” 
I said, repeating the professor’s words, and what a dear, 
wise old friend he was who should say things so true, so 
worthy of repeating. Everything seemed so good that I be- 
gan to hum a tune to myself. 

Just then the coachman tightened the reins, checking the 
horses’ pace, and finally bringing them to a ‘stand. At the 
same moment, a figure in a light overcoat came within the 
radius of the light thrown by the carriage lamps, and ad- 
vanced to the door. Was it Valentine, after all ? 

The handle turned, the door opened ; there was just suffi- 
cient reflected light to show me that the figure was not Val- 
entine’s, but a thinner, slighter man’s. 

“ Mrs. Bromley,” said a voice I did not at once recognize. 

“ Yes,” said 1, a little frightened ; “ who are you ? ” 

“ I am Richard Everleigh.” 

Then I knew the voice, and distinguished him. 

“ Pardon me,” he added ; and without asking my consent, 
he stepped into the brougham, and seated himself beside me. 
As he shut the door, the coachman drove on, but less rapidly 
than before. 

I was utterly astonished ; so much so, that I could not 
decide whether to be angry or not at his intrusion. As he 
bent forward to close the door, I saw that he had on a white 
tie. This suggested an explanation, 

“ Are you going to Woldhurst ” I asked. 

“ Yes,” he answered. 

“You have seen my husband since your visit to Kensing- 
ton ? ” I asked. 

“ No, but I saw him then,” he replied significantly and 
with a menacing accent, which offended me, perplexed as I 
' was. 

“ May I ask ” I began, in a tone of resentment. 

He interrupted me. 

“ First of all, Mrs. Bromley, you must understand that I 
am your friend — the sincerest friend — perhaps the only one 
who can serve you at this moment, when you most need a 
friend.” 

“ You my only friend ! where is my husband ? ” I asked. 

“ You shall see your husband,” he said. “ I am taking 
you to him now.” 


FOUND GUILTY. 


249 

“ Great Heavens ! ” I exclaimed. “ No accident has be- 
fallen him ? ” 

“ None that is not of his own seeking.” 

“ I do not understand.” 

“ I wish you to understand, that is why I have brought 
you here, why I am here beside you now.” 

“ You brought me here ? ” 

“ Yes ; the telegram you received this afternoon I sent. 
This brougham was sent by me to meet you ; the driver was 
instructed to stop at the spot where I got in. All has been 
arranged by me for the express purpose of this interview.” 

“ But Valentine — my husband ” 

“ Believes you are at Kensington — believes you are still his 
unsuspecting, obedient, infatuated dupe. He has the utmost 
faith in you, and in his own ability to cozen you.” 

“ How dare you say this to me ? ” I cried indignantly. 
“ Stop the carriage ! ” 

“ First listen to what I have to tell you.” 

‘‘No, I will not listen to anything against my husband. I 
will not sit beside you. Stop the carriage, or I will get out 
this instant ! * 

To tell the truth, with my passionate indignation at the 
suggestion he had made, there was mingled a certain vague 
terror that this man had got me into his powder to do me per- 
sonal violence. 

“ If you insist,” he said calmly, leaning forward and taking 
hold of the string that communicated with the coachman. 
“ If you will not profit by the services of a friend, I must re- 
linquish you to the tender mercies of your enemy. Where 
shall I tell the coachman to take you ? ” 

“ To my husband.” 

He paused an instant, and then said : 

“ If you will not accept my help, it will be better to go 
back at once to London.” 

I did not answer him, but, bending forward, I put my hand 
on the door handle. 

“ For heaven’s sake, do nothing rash,” he said, holding my 
arm. “ In a few minutes we shall be at the house. Suffer 
me to go with you, I entreat. You will need a friend.” 

“ I need no friend but my husband. I will go alone to him.” 

I was desperate in my intention to get away from him. I 
had no time to reason ; and, seeing it was useless to reason 


FOUND GUILTY. 


250 

with me in my present state of excitement, he pulled the 
string, and the coachman drew up. He opened the door 
and got out ; turning round, he said in a tone of deep sym- 
pathy, “ I will follow you.” Then he closed the door, turned 
to the driver, and said “ Woldhurst,” and the brougham 
moved on. 

A lodge flanked the entrance gates. I recognized them 
when the carriage stopped. The gates were closed. Look- 
ing up the avenue, I could see through the mist a dimly 
luminous point showing where the h*ouse stood ; there was a 
light also in the lodge. The lodge-door opened as the driver 
called out, and a man whom I did not know came out. 

“ What name ” he asked, with his hand on the gate. 

“I dunnow ; better ask the lady inside,” answered the 
driver in a low voice. 

Distracted between a vague terror, and still vaguer hope, 
dreading that Mr. Everleigh would overtake me, seeing the 
lights of the house at the end of the avenue, where I believed 
that I might find shelter in Valentine’s arms, I could not 
brook delay. I fancied that if I got out I could run the 
length of the carriage drive in less time than it would take to 
give the necessary explanation to the lodge-keeper, and get 
the gates open for the brougham to pass. Acting upon im- 
pulse, I opened the door and stepped out quickly. 

The lodge-keeper stepped forward, raising his knuckle to 
his forehead : 

“ Beg pardon, miss, but who might you wish to see ? ” 

“ Captain Bromley,” I answered. 

He shut the door and nodded to the driver, who at once 
turned the horses in the direction we had come. Then, put- 
ting his hand on the gate which I was about to open, he 
said, with deliberation ; 

“ You want to see Captain Bromley ? ” 

Now I was terrified by this man. His manner was strange, 
unlike that of a servant. I could not see his face, only the 
silhouette of his burly figure against the gray mist illuminated 
by the light glimmering in the lodge window. We were quite 
alone. The sound of the carriage wheels grew fainter each 
moment. 

“ Yes, I want to see Captain Bromley at once. I said. 
“ Let me pass, if you please.” 

“ Oh, certainly. Better come and sit down in the lodge. 


FOPND GUILTY. 


251 


miss, while I take up your card to the house. I'm very sorry, 
miss, but you see Pm put here to keep the gate, and I must do 
my duty. Captain Bromley’s got friends, and he’s at dinner, 
and if you won’t send up your name ” 

“ I am Mrs.’ Bromley,” I said. 

“ What Mrs. Bromley 1 ” he asked impudently. 

“ Your master’s wife,” I answered angrily. 

“ Oh, come, that won’t do,” said he, with a laugh. I’ve 
been here two months, and you won’t make me believe you’re 
Mrs. Valentine Bromley.” 

I could not speak. My whole body shook with emotion, 
my knees trembled under me. 

“ Besides,” he pursued, “ I see her at the dinner-table not 
five minutes ago.” 

“ You saw — whom ? ” I found strength to ask. 

“ My master’s wife — Mrs. Valentine Bromley.” 

“ His wife ! ” I gasped ; “ his wife ! ” and then, unable to 
support myself, I fell down upon my knees on the sodden 
path. 

“He is not my husband ! ” I cried. “ Great God ! then 
what am I ? ” 


CHAPTER XXVHI. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

A SICKNESS overpowered me, the earth seemed to be turn- 
ing under me, there was a dull beating in my ears. I was 
unable to sustain myself upon my knees. I fell. Then I felt 
myself raised, a voice spoke peremptorily, a wet cloth was put 
upon my brows. The light grew stronger, and, opening my 
eyes, I found myself seated in the lodge. The lodge-keeper 
stood before me with a bowl of water, and Mr. Everleigh was 
supporting my head and shoulders, as I sat supinely on a chair. 

“ You will be better now,” he said, removing the cloth 
from my brow. I sat up and wiped the moisture from my 
face with my handkerchief. I don’t think I had lost con- 
sciousness ; the shock had stunned me, that was all. I no 
longer felt sick or faint — only very weak, so that the hand- 
kerchief nearly fell from my nerveless fingers. A tumult of 


252 


FOUND GUILTY. 


wild ideas had invaded my mind, and still kept my senses in 
a whirl. 

I saw Mr. Everleigh put a piece of money in the lodge- 
keeper’s hand, signing to him to leave the room. The man 
went out, and Mr. Everleigh came back to me with grave 
solicitude on his pale face. He looked round the room, and 
took down a tumbler from the sideboard. He poured some 
water into it; then, taking a small glass bottle from his 
waistcoat pocket, let three or four drops of liquid fall in the 
water. 

“ Drink that, it will do you good,” he said, handing the 
tumbler to me. 

I obeyed, and felt calmer at once ; then my strength came 
back a little. 

“ The fly is outside,” he said, when he saw the good effect 
his potion had made. Will you go home ? ” 

Home ! I had none. The thought struck me at once. 
What was I to do ? I covered my eyes with my hands and 
tried to collect my thoughts and find some way out of the 
darkness in which they were involved. 

“ Or,” pursued Mr. Everleigh, after a moment’s pause, “ do 
you think it will be better to verify the truth of this charge 
against your — your husband ; and to know by the evidence of 
your own senses whether this man has told you a lie, and 
whether I am to be trusted as a friend ? ” 

“ Yes, that will be best,” I said, bending my body, that 
my heart might beat less painfully. 

“ It seems to me the wiser course,” he said. “ It is best 
that you should know the truth, and realize the fact, dreadful 
as it is ; and the sooner the better. That is why I brought 
you here. But I am doubtful of your strength.” 

“ I am prepared. I am ready,” I muttered faintly. 

Looking at me thoughtfully, he shook his head. Then he 
slipped his fingers in his pocket and drew out the little bottle 
from which he had poured the drops which revived me, to- 
gether with another similar in appearance. He compared 
them by the light, and put one in the right hand pocket, the 
other in the left. 

“ It will be well to have this with us in case you break 
down again,” he said. 

He went out of the room. I heard him talking to the 
lodge-keeper. They were in conversation for some minutes, 


FOUND GUILTY. 


253 

then Mr. Everleigh came back, saying he had persuaded the 
man to help us. 

“ I have sent him up to the house to see if it will be safe 
to go up now,” he said. 

“ What need is there of that 1 ” I asked. “ I shall go in 
and face my husband.” 

“ My poor child, do you think Mr. Bromley has not pre- 
pared for such an attempt on your part t The lodge-keeper 
refused to let you pass. He dared not have done that unless 
he had received instructions from his master. If one servant 
has been warned, all have been warned, and it would be as 
impossible for you to cross the threshold of the house as it 
was to pass the gate. I have bribed the gate-keeper to open 
thg^ door of the conservatory ; from there we can see into the 
dining-room — we may even hear what is said within. That 
will be enough.” 

“ No, it will not be enough ! ” I cried, clenching my hands, 
as the thought of what I might see and hear flashed upon me. 

“ What else would you have beyond a knowledge of the 
truth } ” 

“ What else would I have ? ” I cried, starting up from the 
chair, my hot imagination transporting me to that room where 
Valentine stood with the creature who dared to call herself 
his wife. But I did not answer the question ; I could not 
form an idea of retribution ; only my nature craved for ven- 
geance. 

Mr. Everleigh regarded me with perfect calmness for two 
or three seconds. Then he pursued ; 

“ What could you do there ? Nothing but obey him once 
more.” 

“ Obey hint / ” I cried. 

Every word he spoke stung me ; I could only echo his 
phrases. 

“ Yes, obey him once more,” he repeated. “ If he says, 
‘ Leave this house — go back to the lodgings I have taken 
for you with the servant ; I will permit ’ ” 

“ Never — never — never ! ” I cried, interrupting him. 

“ But you must leave the house,” he said, in the same quiet 
tone. “ Mrs. Bromley will not suffer you to remain there.” 

It seemed as if my blood turned to. fire at this insult. I 
turned upon Mr. Everleigh, choking with passion. He did 
not give me time to speak. 


254 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ You must put yourself in her place — she, too, is an in- 
jured woman. Remember she is his lawful wife : you are not. 
She took possession of the house while Captain Bromley was 
travelling with you, and she has a right to stay there and for- 
bid you to put your foot upon the doorstep. She has done 
you no wrong ; on the contrary, she is justified in thinking 
that she is wronged by you, who have partly, and for a time, 
alienated her husband from her. Captain Bromley has a cer- 
tain sort of passion for you, and until he grows weary of you 
will be anxious to keep you in the pretty lodgings — spending 
what time he can conveniently spare in your company — trick- 
ing you out with finery, and ” 

1 cried out in agony, and, dropping into the chair, covered 
my face with my hands. Mr. Everleigh ceased to speak. 
There was silence for a minute, and then the door-handle 
turned, and the lodge-keeper entered. 

“ You can come. They are still at dinner,” he said. 

“ Will you come ? ” asked Mr. Everleigh. 

•I shook my head. I did not want to see that woman. 

“You must come,” said Mr. Everleigh in a low tone, but 
firmly. “ To-morrow you will not believe what you have 
heard to day, unless you have more convincing proof. Val- 
entine Bromley will find means to cheat you again, as he has 
cheated you before. He will tell a new lie, and you will 
believe him rather than accept the terrible reality.” 

I rose, for even now I could not believe the worst. I felt 
that I must go through with this ordeal to the end. 

“ One moment, sir,” said the lodge-keeper, scratching his 
jaw thoughtfully — “ what I’m doing is worth more than a 
sovereign : it’s worth as much as my situation. And, unless 
the young lady will promise not to be violent and kick up a 
row, I can’t go no further.” 

“ You will control your feelings ? ” Mr. Everleigh said, 
turning to me. 

“ Yes,” I answered. 

“ I will answer for the young lady keeping her word,” safd 
Mr. Everleigh. 

“ So long as you’re responsible, sir, I don’t mind. I know 
you, and can trust in you,” said the man, opening the 
door. 

We went out into the misty night. Once more the 
trembling fit was upon me ; I had to close my teeth tightly 


FOUND^ GUILTY. 


25s 


to prevent them chattering. But I would not accept 
Mr. Everleigh’s arm. I hated hirn for what he had told 
me. 

“ Not that way — this,” said he, when we came to a fork 
in the path, and I was about to take one that led straight 
to the lights before me. “ You see I know the place better 
than you,” he continued, speaking in a low tone not to be 
heard by the lodge-keeper, who followed us at a few paces. 
“ I have been watching the house for weeks, ever since Mrs. 
Bromley took possession of it. I have known Valentine 
Bromley longer than I have known you — and he knows me, 
though by another name. Twice he has nearly caught me 
in your presence — once at Faulcondale, and a few days ago 
at Kensington. I suspected his wife was alive ; I could not 
reveal my suspicions without proof. To save you from this 
misfortune, this awful degradation, I set myself to find her 
when I heard that he had proposed to marry you. Un- 
happily, the discovery came too late. He had gone through 
that mock ceremony of marriage, and taken you away. I 
tried to break this truth to you by the pretended history of 
my sister. Would it had been my sister and not you that 
this villain chose for his victim ! ” 

I made no reply. These facts were of small moment to 
me then. 

The path we had taken led through the shrubbery which 
skirted the lawn to that side of the house adjoining the con- 
servatory. 

“ Wait here a moment, sir,” said the lodge-keeper, when 
we came to an opening close to the house. 

We stopped, and he went on softly across the grass. 
There was no light in the conservatory, but there were re- 
flections upon the glass and the shining leaves of the 
camellias from the dining-room, which opened into it. 

The lodge-keeper returned, and held up his finger as a 
sign for us to come. I paused a moment to get strength 
and courage, and then, feeling already sick and faint, I 
tottered forward. Mr. Everleigh grasped my arm tightly ; 
I was indifferent to his touch then. 

At the door of the conservatory I heard laughter — men’s 
and women’s — and then the voice of my husband, deep and 
sonorous ; but I could not catch what he said. A few steps 
further, and I stood before the window. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


256 

The curtains were not drawn, some foliage alone screened 
the room partly from my sight. Mr. Everleigh put out his 
hand, and bent the sprays. Then I could see the long 
table, decorated with beautiful flowers, and those who sat 
at it. Valentine’s back was towards me. A gentleman and 
lady sat on the right, and two others on his left. At the 
head of the table, facing him, sat the woman I had come to 
see. 

I had expected to find her a vulgar, hard-featured, middle- 
aged woman of the world. I saw a young woman, not more 
than five or six years older than myself, slight and delicate, 
with a careworn and rather timid expression on a fair face 
that was neither worldly nor coarse. 

“ She, too, is an injured woman ! ” 

These words of Mr. Everleigh’s returned to my mind. 

The windows, that opened to the ground, were partly open ; 
the voices came clear and sharp to my ear. 

A gentleman was commenting upon some local matter 
they had been discussing. When he finished speaking there 
was a pause. Then the gentleman on the other side, raising 
his voice as one does in beginning a new subject, said : 

“ And how long do you intend staying amongst us. Captain 
Bromley ? ” 

“ That depends altogether upon the wife’s health,” answered 
Valentine. “ The doctors say she must not leave the house 
until she is quite restored.” 

“ Then, to a certain degree the doctors are our friends,” 
said the gentleman. “ You will return in the spring, I sup- 
pose, Mrs. Bromley } ” 

“ That depends upon my husband,” she replied. “ If 
Valentine ” 

The rest was a confused murmur in my ears. I reeled 
backwards. The lodge-keeper, I believe, prevented me from 
falling ; at the same time, to stifle my cry, Mr. Everleigh put 
a handkerchief to my mouth. Then I lost all consciousness. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


257 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

When I recovered my senses, I found myself lying on abed 
in a small room with whitewashed walls, a latticed window, 
and a beamed ceiling. It was so like the cottage rooms at 
Faulcondale, that for a moment I thought I was in my old 
home, just awoke from troubled sleep. For I knew some- 
thing terrible had happened ; there was a pain at my heart 
as if it were broken. Still perplexed, I turned my head, and 
saw, standing by my side, Mr. Everleigh and an elderly 
woman, who held a lamp in her hand. 

Mr. Everleigh put his fingers upon my pulse. I started 
up, snatching my hand away ; for the scene in the conser- 
vatory flashed upon my recollection, and my first feeling was 
abhorrence, not, strange to say, of Valentine, who had be- 
trayed me, but of the man who had betrayed him to me. ^ 

“She is better now,” said Mr. Everleigh to the woman; 
“ put down the light, we can leave her for a time.” 

“ Won’t the young lady take something, sir ? ” asked the 
woman. “We keep the very best of rum.” 

“ No ; there is water on the table — that will be all she 
requires at present.” Then, turning to me, he said, “ We 
will leave you ; lie down and repose yourself ; if you need 
anything, you have but to call. Without rest it will be dan- 
gerous to leave this place. Try to sleep for an hour.” 

Sleep for an hour ! I should have laughed had not all 
sense of humor been chased from my spirit by fierce passion. 
Sleep, with rage in my heart and tumult in my brain ! Sleep, 
when every nerve was strung up and my whole being craved 
to be in action ! “ Can I ever sleep again ?” I asked myself. 

I sprang from the bed as the door closed, and stood like a 
wild beast prepared to spring, yet not knowing on whom to 
fasten. I had something to do. What was it? I must put 
my thoughts into order, get some definite idea of my position, 
and make up my mind what course I was to take. My eye 

17 


FOUND GUILTY, 


258 

fell upon the glass of water on the table. I seized it, and 
drank it down, thinking it would cool my heated brain. It 
might have been a fiery spirit for all I knew then, or now 
know. 

I set myself to go over the events of the evening, and suc- 
ceeded in tracing them to the moment I fainted. On a chair 
I saw the travelling bag which I had left in the brougham ; 
and from this I concluded I had been carried back to the 
lodge and brought away insensible in the brougham here. 
Where was I ? Not far from Woldhurst, certainly, or I should 
have revived on my way hither. It might be quite near. 
This suggested one thing that might be done, and should be 
done at once. It was little enough, but I seized the idea 
with avidity. I tore off the dress that had been bought with 
Valentine’s money, and put on the simple costume I had 
worn in the old days before my marriage. Then I took out 
my ear-rings stripped off my bracelets, and the gem rings from 
my fingers, and last of all, I took off my wedding-ring, that 
I had been so proud of, and had no right to wear. 

I cannot think of this now without crying. How happy I 
had been when he first admired that simple dress ; how 
happy again when I packed it, thinking, “ Perhaps he will 
take me into the woods to-morrow, where we shall hear the 
brown leaves rustle under our feet ! ” And what a thrill of 
joy I had felt as he put the wedding-ring on my finger, and 
how I had looked at it wdth love and reverence many times, 
making resolutions as I kissed it to overcome my faults, and 
be loyal and true forever to the dear partner of my life, who 
had given it to me as a token of enduring love. And then 
what pride I had felt, when he gave me rich dresses and 
rare diamonds, in thinking he had found the picture worthy 
of such fine setting. My heart aches with the remembrance 
of that moment, when all my hope and joy and pride w^ere 
gone from me with the gifts of his hand, and nothing was 
left upon me of the things I had prized for his sake — no 
trifle cherished as a love token — no vestige of pride or hope 
— not even the tender recollections of past happiness. 

I stop now to wipe away the tears that dim my eyes ; but 
I did not weep then. Anger left no place for grief in my 
heart. No gentle memories were awoke by the sight of the 
things I was casting off forever. 

“ With this ring,” I said, “ he tricked me, dishonored me. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


259 


debased me to the level of a vile woman. These diamonds 
are the price he was willing to pay for his pleasure ; with 
these baubles he thought to reconcile me to my shame. 
FroVn the first he has worked upon me as if I were a child hav- 
ing no pleasure but the gratification of my senses, and with 
these glittering playthings he has amused me, kept me in good 
humor, petted me, and held me in his power. What am I ^ 
Only an ignorant country girl, to be played with and cast 
aside ! a poor fool, to be cajoled and laughed at, a jest for the 
club, a conquest to be chatted about with a friend and a cigar 
— the object of a few months’ idle folly — an amusing creature 
with little freaks of jealousy that required a little manage- 
ment, a trifle of the past — gone. Heaven knows where, like a 
puff of smoke. Nothing ! 

I goaded myself with these bitter reflections as I threw the 
relics of his love into the bag, closed it, and went to the door. 
The key was turned on the outside, but in a moment the door 
was unlocked, and Mr. Everleigh stood before me. 

“ Up already ? ” he said, in a tone of surprise that galled 
me. 

“ Do you, too, think I am an idiot ? ” I asked ; “ a baby 
to be lulled to sleep — a senseless dolt, anxious to forget — 
dull to a sense of dishonor and degradation ? ” 

“ Be calm, my child.” 

“ I am not a child ! I am a woman.” 

“ Yes ; art outraged woman, yet still a child,” he said ; “ a 
child in experience — a child in power to redress your wrongs 
— to shape a course in the future.” 

“ Experience ! What woman has gone through more than 
I — what woman has more to learn ? ” 

He was closing the door. 

“ Wait,” I said ; “ let me go.” 

“ Where ? ” he asked, standing between me and the door. 

“ To Woldhurst.” 

“ No,” he said. “ I cannot let you go out until you have 
recovered your self-control.” 

“ I will go ! ” I cried fiercely. 

“ You shall go — when you are calm. It is half-past nine ; 
the roads are dark. There is not a light, nor anyone who 
can direct you. You might wander about until you fainted 
again with exhaustion. You say you are no longer a child : 
prove it ; be reasonable.” 


26 o 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I saw that I must be guided — that no end would be gained 
by following the first impulse. 

“ I am here to help, not to hinder you,” he said, quitting 
the door, as if assured that I would not attempt to go now. 
“ I know your purpose in wishing to go to Woldhurst.” He 
placed a chair for me, and seated himself opposite. “ You 
have changed your dress, and taken off your trinkets. You 
intend to give them back to Valentine Bromley? ” 

“ Yes ; I will not keep anything that has come from his 
hands.” 

“ You do well. That is the course a woman should take. 
I promise you that in an hour he shall have them, and know 
that you scorn to keep his gifts and profit by his bounty in 
any way. But you must not take them. It would involve 
you in a vulgar squabble with the servants, and possibly end 
in your being sent to a police-station. A woman can be 
punished for annoying a gentleman in his house.” 

“ You believe he would have me punished if I went there 
— suffer his servants to lay hands on me ? ” 

The words choked me. 

“ Why not ? ” asked Mr. Everleigh coldly. “ The shame is 
slight, compared with that he has inflicted on you.” 

“ That is true.” 

“ For his pleasure he dishonored you, employing the basest 
means ; why should he hesitate as to the meaixs of getting rid 
of you when you trouble him ? It is a common case — a man 
betrays a girl, grows tired of her, discards her, and when she 
threatens his tranquillity, he claims the protection of the 
police — and gets it. The law is on his side. He has a right 
to amuse himself. His victim may be punished ; not he — 
wait, I forgot : he went through the farce of a marriage cere- 
mony ; that is illegal, but what of that ? If he likes to spend 
the cold months in the South of France, he is quite safe. 
Evidently that is what he is prepared to do. You heard him 
say this evening that he intended going away, and that he 
only waits for his wife to regain strength. You may be sure 
he will find out she is strong enough to undertake the journey 
when he discovers that you are no longer to be played with. 
May I ask for what length of time he has taken the house in 
Kensington ? ” 

“ Six months.” 

“ Six months ! ” he said, shrugging his shoulders ; then. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


261 


turning aside, and bending his brows as he looked upon the 
floor, he added, as if to himself, “ Calculating villain ! ” 

I had sat and listened to him with forced patience, but I 
could bear this inaction no longer ; it was maddening. With 
my blood fermenting in my veins, I started to my feet, and 
paced across the room. 

“ What am I to do ? ’- I cried. 

“ I am thinking of that. Miss Howard,” he answered reflect- 
ively. 

“ Miss Howard ! ” Those two words did more than all the 
rest to make me realize my position. It was my name. I 
had no right to any other. It would have been an insult to 
have called me Mrs. Bromley now. Yet I hated Mr. Ever- 
leigh for calling me by my right name. 

“ Of course you will not go back to Kensington t ” 

“ Go back to Kensington ! ” I cried, in indignation at the 
thought of returning to that house, made horrible by my 
shame. 

“ Of course not — of course not,” he said, still looking on 
the ground reflectively. “ I understand your feeling for that 
good and worthy old friend.” 

I did not understand him for a moment. He continued : 
“ It would break the professor’s heart to know this. He 
would accuse himself of having precipitated your ruin. It 
would kill him ! It would kill him ! ” 

I had not thought of Mr. Schlobach. I was too much 
engrossed in my own wrongs. But now I was reminded of 
hini, I saw that this would indeed be a death-blow for him. 

“ It would kill him,” Mr. Everleigh repeated. “ He must 
not know. You cannot return to Kensington. Have you 
any other friends ? ” 

“ None.” 

“ Miss Howard, you must accept help from me. You must 
not think of me as an ordinary friend, but as a brother.” 

“ A brother ! ” I cried, wrought to the highest pitch of resent- 
ment by the thought of the disgrace and misery Valentine 
had brought upon me and my guardian. “A brother ! would 
a brother sit and calmly reason upon my disgrace ? Would 
a brother suffer the villain who had done me this irrepar- 
able wrong to go unpunished.^ ” 

“ No,” he cried, rising quickly, and speaking for the first 
time with passion ; “no, and the villain shall not go un- 


262 


FOUND GUILTY. 


punished. Bromley shall not escape. What a brother would 
do, I will do.” He took up the bag and went to the door. 
Then he turned to me, and said, “ Oh, you shall have no 
reason to reproach me with lack of sympathy. Your wrongs 
are mine, and shall be avenged.” 

He opened the door as he spoke. I was terrified by his 
manner. 

“ What are you going to do ? ” I gasped. 

He shall know that you have sent me to him to restore 

all he has given you, and then ” he paused an instant, 

and then said, with sharp distinctness, “ I will shoot him 
through the heart ! ” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

My strength left me. I sank on the edge of the bed, par - 
alyzed with horror. I was powerless to move, to think in- 
telligibly, to do anything ; and the shock to my mental system 
was just the same as if I had received an actual blow. I was 
stunned. My consciousness was utterly blank. 

My presence of mind returned as I heard the movement 
of wheels and the sharp click of the carriage door being 
closed. The necessity of action restored my faculties. I 
started to my feet. Mr. Everleigh was on his way to take 
Valentine’s life. That brought me to my senses in a moment, 
banishing all jealous and vengeful feelings. I thought only 
of Valentine as the man I loved above everyone in the world ; 
I thought of him lying dead — slain at my instigation. To 
save him from that fate — to save myself from the awful re- 
sponsibility of that crime — was now my sole object. 

With a cry of desperation I sprang to the door, threw it 
open, and flew down the dark stairs. It was like the flight 
one takes in a dream pursuit. I know not how I reached the 
road. I was conscious only of passing through a room like 
the parlor of an inn. I stood in the road, breathlessly intent 
on catching tlTe sound of carriage wheels. I heard them 
rumbling faintly in the distance to the right. I ran in that 
direction as fast as I could. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


263 

I fancy voices called to me from the inn door through 
which I had passed. Someone may have run after me; I 
am not sure. In the darkness it would be impossible to tell 
which way I had gone ; for my feet seemed scarcely to touch 
the ground, and my footfall was noiseless. It is wonderful 
to me how I found my way. Did instinct guide me, or did 
the intense excitement of the moment give abnormal power 
to my faculties of seeing and hearing .? I know not. 
Assuredly I continued to hear the rolling of wheels before 
mo, or I should not have proceeded in that direction. Then 
as I came to the crest of a hill I saw a dull, luminous 
point below, which I felt sure was from the carriage lamps. 
On and on I sped, gaining on the faint point, and on and on 
until I saw another point of light in advance of the first. 

“ That,” I said, “ must be the light from the lodge.” And 
now the sound of wheels ceased, and I gained quickly on 
the lights of the carriage lamps. 

I reached the lly ; it was standing still ; the door was open 
I glanced inside ; it was empty. 

“ Where is he ? ” I struggled to ask of the coachman, who 
with one hand leaning on the box, was turning round to look 
at me. 

He gaped at me in astonishment. I glanced ahead ; the 
second light I had noticed seemed some distance from me, 
and on the right. 

The light from the lamps shone on the oak palings border- 
ing the pathway on that side. I remembered them. The 
grounds of Woldhurst were confined with palings of that kind. 

“ Where is he t ” I said, in audible tones, yet still panting 
painfully for breath, and prepared to run on to the lodge. 

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the opposite 
direction to the lodge, and opened his mouth to speak. But 
before a word was spoken, the sharp crack of a pistol-shot 
fell on our ears, and then another and another. 

I fell on my knees with a shriek, for it seemed as if the 
bullet had gone through my own wicked heart. 

Yet my senses were still alert. I expected to hear more. 
The horse made a movement, the clicking of the bit, the 
angry voice of the coachman drawing him in, the crunching 
of the wheels I heard, and then the rustling of shrubs, the 
sound of a man climbing over the palings, the thud of his 
feet as they came to the ground — and a quick step. I saw 
Mr. Everleigh. 


264 


FOUND GUILTY. 


As he caught sight of me, he stopped, with an exclamation 
of surprise. Without a word 'he caught me up quickly, and 
lifted me into the carriage. 

“ Bickley, sharp — double if you catch the 10. 10,” he said 
to the driver, as he sprang in after me. 

The horse, had started off at a gallop. The lodge- 
keeper was in the room as we dashed past the gate. 

“ I have played a brother’s part. You are avenged,” said 
Mr. Everleigh ; and from the pocket of his overcoat on the 
right he drew a revolver, and transferred it to the pocket on 
the left. 

There was light enough for me to see that. 

I drew away from him with sickening horror ; I fancied 
Valentine’s blood was on his hands and clothes, his sodden 
coat hanging heavily, and sticking to my dress. 

Then a frenzy seized me, and I should have opened the 
door and sprung out had he not held me down with firm 
hands that even in my passion I was unable to cope with. 

“ Let me go, let me go ! ” I cried. “ It is villainous to kill 
a man, and fly. It is cowardly ! It is infamous ! Let me 
be free. I shall lose my senses if you hold me. I do not 
wish you to share the consequences of this deed. Go where 
you will, but let me return to him. I will not betray you. 
You are guiltless. I have murdered him — not you. My 
place' is there beside his dead body. Let me return. I will 
soak my hands in his blood, and say, ‘ It was I who took 
his life — with these bloody hands ! ’ No one shall knew 
that you did my bidding. I alone am guilty. Let me take 
the penalty. That is all I ask. You are a coward, a villain, 
to take me away from him. I shall hate and loathe you till 
I die if you refuse my just demand. I will bless you if you 
yield to my entreaty. Oh, let me go ! — For the love of 
mercy let me go back ! Think : he may not be dead — he may 
breathe still. He may be asking for me. He may wish to 
forgive me. You cannot deny me this. Think : I am a 
woman. Have pity on me ; let me go and kneel beside his 
body and say, ‘ Darling, I have done this in my passion. 
Forgive me.’ ” 

And in this way I continued to address him, now accusing 
him of baseness, now appealing to his mercy, now storming 
with rage and passion, now entreating him like a child, and 
all like a poor, mad wretch as I was — until the paroxysm 


FOUND GUILTY. 


265 

exhausted me, and left me weak and helpless, when I burst 
into a flood of tears, and sobs shook my miserable, nerveless 
being. 

Then, and not till then, Mr. Everleigh relaxed his hold 
upon me. Heaven knows what would have become of me 
had he been moved by my passion to let me have my way. 

I had undergone too much fatigue of mind and body for 
this convulsion to last long ; and when it passed away a child 
might have led me. All my strength was gone, and I could 
only sob and cry. 

While my tears flowed my heart was sensible to grief. I 
was not a woman then, but a child again. Silly ideas were 
in my mind. I thought of the old days at Faulcondale, of 
Coquelicot, of the dresses I wore, of the trouble I had given 
my guardian long ago, when he tried to teach me, of his love \ 
for me ; and it was the thought of these trifles, the reflection 
that I should never more be happy and innocent as in those 
days, that wrung my heart. It was unnatural. It was ab- 
surd. But how could I help it, being beside myself ? 

Then, when I could cry no more, a feeling of weariness 
came upon me, and I could think of past happiness no more. 
And becoming more rational, I wondered why my heart was 
so heavy, and tried to explain it. “ It is broken — my heart,” 

I said to myself. “ That is why it feels so dull and heavy — 
it is dead within me.” 

My imagination went from the past to the future. “ I 
have been sinned against, and have sinned in the highest 
degree,” I thought. “ I am dishonored and degraded ; I 
have murder on my conscience ; I am stained with crime'^ I 
am worthless ; and I can never hope to recover my innocence. 
There is nothing to hope for in all the wide world. The blue 
sky and birds and flowers will mock me. I cannot face 
those who have loved me. There is no more love for me ; 
all is dead. Women will shrink from me ; men will point at 
me ; some will scorn me ; others will shun me. I can never 
kiss a little child.” 

Then a flood of tears came again, for I loved children. I 
who thought to have children of my own, to press them to 
my bosom, and hush them to sleep, to teach them to love 
their father — their father, whose life I had taken ! 

“ All my hopes are gone — all ! Nothing can restore them. 
Will people see what I am by my face ? Yes. What does 


266 


FOUND GUILTY. 


it matter ? I have nothing to hope for. Shall I become 
callous and vile ? Perhaps. It will make no difference what 
becomes of me ; I can sink no lower. I have nothing to 
dread. In a little while I shall be dead ; one cannot live with a 
broken heart.” A gleam of satisfaction came with this reflec- 
tion, and I repeated again and again, “ In a little while I 
shall be dead ; one cannot live with a broken heart.” 

I made no opposition to obeying Mr. Everleigh. When 
the carriage stopped at the railway-station, I got down, but I 
would not touch Mr. Everleigh’s hand. That was loathsome 
to me. 

He read what was in my mind, and when we were in the 
railway-carriage, he allowed me to sit alone at the end of the 
compartment farthest from him. He spoke — I do not know 
what he said. I did not reply ; I was broken down. 

It was at Chatham, I think, that we stopped. I threw 
myself on the bed in the hotel without taking off my clothes, 
and I slept. It seems strange to me that I could sleep. But 
I have heard that men sleep knowing that they are to be ex- 
ecuted the next morning. I was glad to sleep. When I was 
called in the morning, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep 
again. The girl came in, and said, touching my shoulder : 

“ If you don’t get up now, miss, you will lose the train.” 

It w'as strange that people should know I was not a wife. 

“ Must I catch the train ? ” I asked stupidly. 

“ Yes, miss,” she replied, in a tone of authority — like one 
who addresses a child or an invalid. “ You must get up 
now. The fly’s at the door, and the gentleman is waiting.” 

I rose and brushed back my hair with my hands. 

“ I’ve brought your coffee, miss,” she pursued, still in the 
same authoritative tone. “ You must drink it ; it will do you 
good.” 

I did as I was told to do, while the girl straightened 'my 
crushed bonnet, and tried to make me presentable. Then 
she bade me put on a new waterproof that I had never seen 
before, which, I suppose, Mr. Everleigh had bought for me 
that morning. 

Downstairs the master of the hotel bowed to me as I 
passed to the fly, and the maid curtseyed to me also. 

“ They would not do that,” said I to myself, “ if they knew 
I had murdered the man I loved.” 

Again we were seated in a train — Mr. Everleigh at one end 


FOUND GUILTY. 


267 

of the compartment, and I at the other. He had a packet 
of papers and books, bought on the platfrom. He offered 
. them to me. I shook my head, and turned away. 

At Dover we went from the train on to a boat. There 
were few passengers. Men were busy with the luggage. The 
steam was hissing from the funnel ; a bell rang. The sea 
was bright ; a breeze had sprung up and cleared the air ; the 
sun shone. I sat on the seat Mr. Everleigh placed for me, 
and never moved until he came up, some time after the boat 
had started, and said : 

“ You had better go down. It is cold ; there is a good fire 
in the ladies’ cabin.” 

Then I went below, and when the stewardess told me I had 
better lie down, I lay down. I tried to sleep again, I felt 
it would be pleasant to sleep and forget. 

My thoughts were hovering about Valentine, but I would 
not think of that, and began counting whenever I found them 
approaching nearer to him. How I wished to sleep and 
forget ! 

“ He is dead, he is dead, he is dead ! ” the engines seemed 
to reiterate. I strove to think of pleasant things ; what was 
there pleasant to think of ? What had brightened the dull 
surroundings last night \ Suddenly the words came back to 
my recollection : 

“ In a little while I shall be dead. No one can live with 
a broken heart.” 

Was that true or false ? If my heart was broken, why did 
I still live ? And if I still lived with a dead heart, might I 
not continue to live — always carrying my burden 1 The water 
against the side of the boat pleased my ear. I listened to it, 
and thought how cool it would be to my burning head ; how 
one might forget lying beneath the waters, where it was all 
calm and beautiful, like the home of the water maiden in Hans 
Andersen’s sweetest story. 

There was no other lady passenger on board ; the 
stewardess had left the cabin, seeing that I did not need 
her. 

I got up, and with a careful step made my way up the 
winding stairs. Half-way up I caught sight of Mr. Ever- 
leigh seated near the head of the stairs smoking a cigar. My 
spirits fell, and I retraced my steps and lay down again. 

“ He is dead, he is dead, he is dead ! ” the engines repeated. 


268 


FOUND GUILTY. 


To avoid that, I tried to make out what the water whispered. 
I seemed to hear the voice of the water-maiden telling how 
at the end of a hundred years they became seafoam and for- 
go,t all the past. 

The stewardess came to tell me that we had reached Ostpnd, 
and that it was time to go upon deck. 

I went up. The passengers were collected in a little knot 
against the gangway on the bridge ; but Mr. Everleigh was 
at the head of the stairs to meet me. 

There was no one at the end of the boat but us. On our 
left was the pier ; on the right was the open harbor. There 
was a seat against the side, and the bulwarks were only a 
little height above it. • 

We went towards the gangway ; we had to ascend a few 
steps to get upon the bridge. There was no room for two 
to go up side by side. Mr. Everleigh went first. He was 
three steps in advance, when a wild hope fluttered into my 
breast, and I looked back. That end of the boat was still 
deserted. I did not hesitate. In a moment I ran back, put 
my foot on the seat, sprung from that on to the bulwark ; 
and crying to myself, “ God forgive me for all the wrong I 
have done,” and with a great hope that I should presently 
see Valentine as I had seen him when we met before, 1 leapt 
downwards into the sea. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK. 

“ Two half-crowns and a door-key for risking your life to 
get that letter is not much, Thomas,” I said to myself, as my 
eyes followed the gig with Mr. Bullen in it speeding towards 
Barstow. I had not foreseen the difficulty in getting a war- 
rant, but I felt that the parson was right, and that it would 
be more expeditious to go to London for help than to seek it 
from a country magistrate. I regretted, however, that I had 
not myself taken the letter to London, where Mr. Grote the 
solicitor would have given me another fifty pounds for my 
service had I asked it. Still there was the possibility that 
help might not come from London, and in that case I should 


FOUND GUILTY. 


269 

have to make an effort to save Mrs. Norman unaided. If I 
succeeded in doing that I should strengthen my claim upon 
Captain Bromley’s gratitude. In any case I was certain of 
being rewarded sooner or later for the risk I had run. 

With this consolatory reflection I turned into an alehouse 
and called for a breakfast of eggs and bacon. 

I dared not go near the Moat before nightfall, so I resolved 
to see if there were any letters for me at the post-office at 
Faulcondale, and to hang about there during the day, that I 
might know if Dr. Bullen returned from London. 

I started off as soon as I had finished my breakfast ; a 
baker overtaking me on the road gave me a lift in his cart. 
In the course of conversation he told me he was a Manx man, 
and gave me a description of Douglas, where his mother kept 
a lodging-house. 

At Faulcondale we shared a pint of ale and parted. I went 
to the post-office, and found a letter from Miss Norton that 
had been lying there four days. My friend wrote in rather a 
snappish tone — she could not understand my long silence, 
she thought it was but fair that we should come to an under- 
standing, etc. ; but that which really interested me was the 
information that Captain Bromley was to marry Miss How- 
ard on the eighteenth, “ and as this,” she added, “ is entirely 
due to my influence upon Mrs. Bromley, I think I ought to 
be made acquainted with the purpose you had in view when 
you asked me to bring it about.” 

I put the letter in my pocket, and walked to the church- 
yard, that I might sit down and think it out without fear of 
interruption. 

“ The eighteenth,” thought I, as I walked along, “ why, 
that is this very day ! In a few hours they will be married 
that is, if Dr. Bullen does not arrive in time to upset the 
arrangement by producing Mrs. Norman’s letter and hurry- 
ing Captain Bromley off to her rescue.” Then I bitterly re- 
proached myself for having neglected to keep myself better 
informed of Miss Norton’s movements. I had under-rated 
her ability. That was my fault. If the marriage were pre- 
vented I had no one to blame but myself. For, of course, 
had I got Miss Norton’s letter before, I should have kept 
back Mrs. Norman’s communication until all possibility of 
impeding the marriage was removed. 

How often have I found that the very best laid plans are 


270 


FOUND GUILTY. 


rendered ineffectual by the merest accident which could not 
be foreseen ! 

It is only in books and dramas that no hitches of this kind 
occur to upset the development of a clever scheme. 

“Well, now what will happen?” I asked myself, as I sat 
down in a secluded part of the graveyard after once more 
reading Miss Norton’s letter. “ In the first place, if Dr. Bul- 
len finds Captain Bromley before he has taken Miss Howard 
to the church,” I answered, “ they will arrive at Barstow at 
2.15, and they’ll pass here about three, and then things will 
be neither better nor worse than they were before I started 
the parson off. If they do not pass here between three and 
four it will be pretty certain that the marriage has taken 
place. 

“ In that case the whole position of affairs will be altered. 
What can Dr. Norman do ? Nothing. The game is lost to 
him. While Miss Howard was Miss Howard, he could hope 
by getting rid of his wife to come between Captain Bromley 
and Miss Howard in some way known to himself, make Miss 
Howard his wife, and profit by the stolen letter.” But Miss 
Howard being married, that possibility was out of the ques- 
tion. He could only succeed in realizing the quarter of a 
million by killing Captain Bromley as well as Mrs. Norman. 
Was it likely he would go to such an extreme as that ? Know- 
ing his character, I thought it improbable. His schemes 
might be as villainous as those of Macbeth or Richard the 
Third, but they were not backed up by the courage of those 
men. He could rid himself of his wife with impunity by forc- 
ing her to commit suicide ; but he could not play that game 
with a man like Valentine Bromley. No ; Dr. Norman valued 
his life too well to risk it by murder. He could withhold the 
fortune from Mrs. Bromley, but he could do no more. He 
certainly could not use it himself. Miss Howard married, 
that draft would be worth no more to him than waste-paper. 

It struck me that before long perhaps he would be glad to 
come to terms with me, blundering idiot or not, and sell me 
the stolen letter for a fair price. 

I began to speculate already on the price I should offer — 
six hours before I could tell whether Miss Howard was mar- 
ried or not. 

I kept out of the way, not wishing to encounter Eliza, who 
could be of no service to me, and I did not trouble to reply 


FOUND GUILTY. 


271 


to Miss Norton’s letter for a similar reason. I had got that 
young lady’s secret, and did not intend that she should know 
mine. If she had brought about the marriage, it was as 
much as I wanted of her. I could not see how she could be 
of further use to me. As for her secret, she was welcome, 
so far as I was concerned, to do what she pleased with it. 
It was a trumpery family affair concerning Mrs. Norman that 
could not be turned to any profitable account, according to 
my judgment at that time. It may be said that I was selfish : 
I dare say I was. I don’t pretend to be perfect ; my business 
here is to tell the truth. 

Two o’clock struck; I watched the Barstow road with 
anxiety ; it struck three, and then I said to myself : “ It’s all 
right. The parson has missed them : Dr. Norman has lost 
the race ! ” 

I went to the alehouse, from which I could see everything 
that passed along the Barstow road, and ate a good dinner. 
At four o’clock I felt it was no longer necessary to watch, 
and I went into a rick-yard a little off the road, where I lay 
down under a haystack and fell asleep in a few minutes. 

I intended to rest no more than a couple of hours, that I 
might get to the Moat as soon as it fell dark ; but I over- 
slept myself — which was not to be wondered at, considering 
the little rest I had taken the night before — and when I woke 
it was quite dark — past eight a good bit. I bought a quarter 
of a pound of cheese and a twopenny loaf, and with these in 
my pocket I turned towards Beauchamp Moat. 

It was all very well to say “ By-and-by I shall make terms 
with Dr. Norman and get the reward offered by Professor 
Schlobach for the lost letter.” But I could not afford to neg- 
lect my present advantages, and rely solely upon the possi- 
bility of future gains. I must save Mrs. Norman if possible. 
If I saw no other way of helping her, I would convey another 
message the same way as before, letting her know that Cap- 
tain Bromley was coming to her rescue. That would cer- 
tainly deter her from an immediate act of violence upon 
herself. 

I was laying all this out in my mind, and had covered 
about a mile and a half of the distance between Faulcondale 
and the Moat, when rounding a bend in the road I perceived 
two flaming eyes in the darkness before me. I stopped, 
startled by this sudden apparition. I had heard no one — I 


272 


FOUND GUILTY. 


had met no one ; at this hour the old London road was- 
absolutely deserted. In a moment, however, I recognized 
that the eyes were nothing but carriage lamps ; the distance 
was yet too great for the sound of approach over that thickly 
grass-grown road to be heard. 

Who would come along that road at this time .? No one 
but persons from the Moat. The eyes grew bigger, I could 
hear the screech of the springs and the thud of the horse’s 
hoofs on the turf. 

Feeling my way to the edge of the road — for I could see 
nothing after looking at the bright lamps — I tore through 
the brush, and crouched down, that the light might not fall 
on me as the vehicle drew near. 

Looking from my shelter, I could make out nothing but 
the steaming of the horse’s breath, some bits of the harness 
and the two lights ; but presently I saw the glow of a cigar 
in the blackness between the lamps, and the next moment, 
the vehicle being quite close, a woman leant forward into the 
light to whip the slow horse. It was Martha, and I concluded 
at once by the glow of the lighted cigar I had seen that Dr. 
Norman was seated at her side. Well enough I knew the 
old gig as it passed with its rusty leather hood. 

Reckoning the time elapsed since I left Faulcondale, and 
the time necessary for the gig to reach Barstow, I decided 
that Dr. Norman was going to London by the train that left 
Barstow at 9.45. 

Here was my opportunity. It would be eleven before 
Martha got back, and if, as I calculated, it was now about a 
quarter to nine, I should by making haste have fully an hour 
to get Mrs. Norman out of the house before Martha returned. 

I hurried on, and my eyes growing again accustomed to 
the partial obscurity, I presently broke into a run, anxious to 
make the most of this accidental advantage. 

I got to the Moat out of breath. Not a light was visible. 
This surprised me, for I expected Mrs. Norman to be looking 
out for the promised rescue. 

Had Dr. Norman taken her away? Was she sitting 
between him and Martha when they passed ? I put my 
fingers in my mouth and whistled shrilly. The dog responded 
by barking furiously. I waited some time, and I fancied, 
when the dog for a moment ceased to bark, I heard a faint 
voice calling from the interior of the court. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


273 


As I dared not pass the gate for fear of the dog, I went 
up into the wood, fetched the board, and having crossed the 
moat, entered the house by the door on the ruined side. 
Pushing aside the ivy from the window looking on to the 
courtyard, I caught sight of Mrs. Norman’s pale face stand- 
ing out against the dark square of her opened window. She 
saw the movement of the foliage, and cried : 

“ I am here ! ” and then she added, seeing my face as I 
pushed the ivy still further away, “ I am alone. No one is 
in the house. Is it you, Valentine ? 

“ No,” I answered ; “ but all the same, you shall be saved. 
I am Peters. Can you get down to the front of the house ? ” 

“ No,” she replied; “ I am locked in.” 

“ I will come to you,” I said. 

I went to the corner where I kept my things, got my 
lantern, and lit it. With that I crept through the hopper 
into the straw loft, made my way through the south wing 
and got into the north. Then I proceeded with more 
caution, casting the light to the right and left, on the floor 
and up above, lest Dr. Norman’s devilish ingenuity should 
have provided a surprise forme. I encountered no obstacle' 
and got to Mrs. Norman’s chamber door without accident. 

As I have said, the doors were not furnished with locks ; 
they were fastened with latches and bolts on the inside ; 
they opened inwards in the ordinary way. Just below the 
latch on the outside was an iron handle shaped like a D, for 
pulling-to the door ; through this Dr. Norman had thrust a 
stout piece of quartering, the ends of which extended beyond 
the door-post on either side, effectually preventing the open- 
ing of the door from the inside. But nothing was more easy 
from where I stood. I had just to draw out the piece of 
quartering, lift the latch, and the door opened. 

Mrs. Norman had lit a lamp. She was standing by the 
door, dressed in her bonnet and mantle ready to go. She 
caught my hand, and pressing it, said in feverish haste, but 
under her breath, as though she still feared to be heard : 

“ You won’t forsake me, will you ? ” 

“ No,” I answered ; “ I should not be here now unless I 
meant to save you.” 

“ Heaven bless you ! ” she whispered, still pressing my 
fingers in her hot thin hand. “You are the only friend I 
have. All the rest have forsaken me — all — all ! ” 

18 


274 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ No,” I said, “ your friends have not forsaken you. They 
would have taken you away from here if the law would have 
allowed them.” 

“ And because the law would not let them they suffer me 
to stay here and lose my reason — my life. Are they friends ? 
—No ! ” 

Her vehemence alarmed me. 

“ You must try to be calm,” I said ; “your escape depends 
upon that.” 

“ I am calm. Do not be afraid,” she answered quickly. 
“ Do not take any notice of my look now. I know I am 
excited. I feel my face burning; my hands are hot, and I 
tremble. But who could be otherwise at such a moment as 
this ? I will do as you bid me do ; see, I am obedient ; only 
let us get away.” 

“ Yes, we will go,” said I, making a step towards the door, 

“ Where "i ” she asked, as she took up the hand-lamp and 
followed me. 

“To Orwell; see. Dr. Bullen has given me the key of his 
house.” 

“ No,” she cried, “ no, we will not go there. I will trust 
no one who has called himself my friend — no one but you.” 

“ You must be reasonable,” said I, stopping. 

“ I am reasonable ; ” she laid her hand upon my arm and 
spoke entreatingly ; “ I am quite reasonable. Think what it 
is you propose — to take me to a place where first of all my 
husband will seek me — to put me in the hands of those who 
care more for the law than for me. If they will not take mfe 
from this prison because of the law, will they not for the 
same reason give me up when my husband demands me ? 
Am I unreasonable ? ” 

“ What you say is reasonable,” I answered. “ If you think 
it will be better to go to London — to your mother’s ” 

“No,” she said, interrupting me, “my friends must not 
know that I have left this house. They would give me up. 
I will not trust them. My husband would force them to 
give me up. You do not know how cunning he is.” 

“Yes, I do,” said I. 

“ Then you must see that what I say is right — my friends 
must not know I have escaped.” 

This dialogue did not occupy two minutes. We both 
spoke hastily, for I was as anxious to get away as she. But 


FOUND GUILTY. 


275 


I paused again when she said this. I saw she had made up 
her mind to take a certain course, notwithstanding her pro- 
fession of obedience to my direction, and that it would be 
useless to try and move her in a contrary direction while 
sustained by this feverish excitement. 

“ Let us go — let us go,” said she, drawing me by the arm ; 
“ why are you waiting ? ” 

“ Why, the fact is, ma’am,” I replied, “ I am considering 
ways and means. If you won’t make your escape known to 
your friends we can’t ask them for money, and without that 
I don’t see how we are to dodge Dr. Norman when he be- 
gins to hunt for us.” 

“That is quite true — I did not think of it. I have a few 
trinkets that we can sell — not many, but they will keep us 
until I can work for my living. For I am going to work, 
Peters ; I will take a house-servant’s place — anything.” 

While saying this she had returned to her room, I follow- 
ing, and still talking she hastily collected what articles of 
jewellery she could find there and handed them over to me 
to take care of. Finding a leather bag, I suggested the 
advisability of her taking a change of clothes. She collected 
some things and packed them away. 

“ I have still something else in my desk downstairs,” she 
added, taking up the lamp. 

“ Good — but we shall not need the lamp. I have my lan- 
tern, that is enough ; the other light might discover us if 
Martha should return before her time.” 

She hesitated a moment, then blew out the light. 

We went downstairs into the sitting-room, where she opened 
her desk and sought what she w'anted ; meanwhile, I glanced 
to the right and left from the window, and seeing the way 
quite clear, resolved to go out by the gateway if possible, 
as being more convenient for Mrs. Norman than the way I 
had come. 

“ That is all I have,” said Mrs. Norman, putting another 
case into my hand. “ Now which way shall we go ? ” 

“ If we can we will go by the gateway, but we must see 
first where the dog is.” 

The moment I opened the door which gave entrance from 
the gateway, the dog leapt forward with the utmost fury, 
choking himself with the violent strain upon his collar. 
Something to which the kennel was attached gave way. I 


FOUND GUILTY. 


276 

heard the thing rattle over the cobble stones, and the next 
instant the beast’s claws were tearing at the doorstep to get 
a hold for further entrance. In another moment he would 
have been in the room and upon us. Dragging Mrs. Nor- 
man with me, I retreated into the passage, and I don’t think 
I breathed again until the door was shut between us and the 
detestable animal. As there was now no way of escape ex- 
cept by the ruined wing, we retraced our steps upstairs, along 
the passage, and through the empty rooms into the stray/ 
loft. Here, there being no further need for concealing my 
means of approach, I took out a couple of planks from the 
partition to enable Mrs. Norman to pass,, and then we de- 
scended the rotten stairs to the basement. 

“ Are we going out that way ? ” she asked, as I opened the 
door. 

“Yes,” I answered, “as soon as I have found another 
board to cross by.” 

“ While you are doing that I will go back,” said she ; “ I 
have forgotten something.” 

“ But you cannot go without a light,” I said, as she turned 
in the darkness to grope her way up the treacherous stairs : 
“ wait, I will go with you.” 

“ No, I must go alone. Find the board and then lend me 
your lantern.” 

I w'as getting fidgety ; what with one thing and another a 
good deal of time had been occupied. However, it would 
only make matters worse by waiting to argue with a woman 
in Mrs. Norman’s state of mind, so I set to work and got out 
a piece of timber that would bridge the moat to the center 
pier, from which I could throw out the other plank as usual. 
When I told her I had got what I wanted, she took the lan- 
tern, and begging me to stay where I was, went to the stairs 
and ascended rapidly. The dog barked with redoubled fury. 
I thought he was conscious of her movements. 

Although the moon was hidden by clouds there was 
enough light for me to see the pier standing out of the 
middle of the water, and I was just stooping down to lay 
hold of the timber when the jingle of a horse’s bit struck 
my ear. I stepped out on to the board and glanced towards 
the front of the house. There stood the gig. 

Despite the pitch darkness within, I ran up the stairs like 
a cat and dashed through the south wing and along the west 


FOUND GUILTY. 


• 277 


passage to Mrs. Norman’s room. It was empty. The furious 
barking of the dog suggested that she might have returned to 
the sitting-room. Without a moment’s delay I ran downstairs ; 
the sitting-room lay to the right, but coming to the foot of the 
staircase I caught sight of a ray of light to the left. She had 
gone then towards her husband’s laboratory. She had heard 
my step and turned, hence the ray of light from the lantern. 
I ran along the passage and found her in the disused lumber- 
room, which had served me as a workshop. She had drawn 
back as if to escape discovery, and stood against the bin in 
which I had stored the shavings and chips. The lighted 
lantern was in her left hand, her right was behind her. 

“ What is it ? ” she gasped, seeing my alarm. 

“ Your husband,” I cried. As I spoke something fell from 
her right hand into the bin. There was the sound of break- 
ing glass and a strong smell of paraffin. I know now that it 
was the lamp she had fetched from her bedchamber, but I 
was too agitated then to make inquiries. “ There is no time 
to lookTor anything else ; come along quick, for heaven’s 
sake ! ” I cried. “ Martha has returned, and Dr. Norman 
with her, for aught I know.” 

The fear of him seemed to paralyze her. She stood lean- 
ing against the case for support and trembling like one in an 
ague. Leaving her there with the lantern on the floor before 
her, I ran to the side window and looked out. I could see 
through the gateway. Someone was standing by the wicket 
with one of the gig lamps throwing the light into the gateway. 
The dog stood out in black relief. 

“ Is he there } ” gasped Mrs. Norman, coming to my side 
with the lantern hidden under her mantle. 

“ I can’t see,” I replied ; “ anyway, we must go back at once. 
If he is there we must get away before he can find out that 
we are gone.” 

Once more we made our way back to the ruined wing. 
When we got down to the door I crept along the plank over 
the moat and peered out sideways. Martha had put the gig 
lamp back in its place, and stood there with her hands on 
her hips in a brown study. It was clear that she had returned 
alone and dared not pass through the gateway for fear of the 
dog. Presently, as if she had come to a decision, she sud- 
denly went to the horse’s head and began to unharness him. 

I crept back and told Mrs. Norman of the situation of 


FOUND GUILTY. 


278 

things, assuring her that there was no danger while we re- 
mained quietly where we were. When I returned to my point 
of observation, I found that Martha had taken the horse out 
of the shafts and was walking him towards the fir-trees by the 
bridle. 

She came back, took the rug out, wrapped it closely round 
her head and shoulders, got into the gig, and fastened down 
the apron. 

“ It is all right,” said I, returning to Mrs. Norman ; “ Martha 
has made herself comfortable in the gig. In a quarter of an 
hour she will be asleep, and we can start.” 

We waited impatiently for some time, and then I once more 
crept along the board. 

‘‘ Is it all right ? ” whispered Mrs. Norman from behind me. 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ And we can go in a few minutes ? ” 

“ Yes, we can start now.” 

I went back on my hands and knees as I had advanced, 
for there was still the timber to arrange from the pier to the 
other side of the moat before Mrs. Norman could cross. When 
I stood up and turned about I could see nothing. 

“ Where are you, ma’am ? ” I asked. There was no answer. 
She had gone back for the thing she wished to take with her. 
“ It ought to be something precious,” thought I, “ for her to 
think of it at this time.” 

However, I had something else to occupy my thoughts. I 
got the timber on my shoulder, carried it across the board to 
the pier, and setting one end against my joined feet, I let it 
drop forward ; the other end fell just as I wished on the edge 
of the moat. I walked over it to feel that it was secure, 
gave a glance at the gig to see that Martha had not moved, 
and then, satisfied that all was safe, I returned to the house. 
Almost immediately afterwards I caught sight of the light 
above thrown by the lantern, and Mrs. Norman came down. 
She had nothing in her hand but the lantern. “ Oh oh,” 
thought I, “ it’s too precious to hand over , to me ! ” The 
moon, though still overclouded, was higher ; it was fairly 
light. Mrs. Norman said she could see to cross the planks 
without light, so I put the lantern in my pocket, took the 
leather bag in my left hand, and giving my right to Mrs. 
Norman, led her safely across the narrow bridge. Two 
minutes afterwards we were in the shadow of the firs. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


279 

Now while we had been waiting for the moment when we 
might quit the Moat in safety, I had been casting about in 
my mind for a place of safety to which I might take Mrs. 
Norman, and the conversation I had had with the baker 
that morning recurred to me. “ Everyone is leaving Douglas 
now,” he had said ; “the island is deserted.” It seemed to 
me that this place would just suit us. Mrs. Norman had 
made no suggestion ; she hurried along by my side in silence. 
When I proposed that we should go to the Isle of Man, she 
said : 

“I don’t care where we go, so that I may not be dis- 
covered. If you think it is safe, I am quite willing to go to 
the Isle of Man.” 

“Very well, ma’am,” said I, “we will go to Douglas.” 
That is all that passed between us until we were past Faul- 
condale, on the road to Barstow. Every now and then she 
turned round and looked behind her, and then mended her 
pace. That was natural. I could understand her fear of 
pursuit. We had nearly reached the top of the hill beyond 
Faulcondale, when, after looking behind her once more, she 
stopped, laying one hand on my arm and pointing with the 
other over the gray valley. Far away I saw a bright patch 
of light ; the clouds over there were deeply flushed, and the 
glow extended faintly almost to the clouds above our head. 
I gave an exclamation of surprise. 

“ That is the Moat,” said she. “ My friends will never 
know that I escaped ; they will think I am burnt.” 

Now I understood why she had gone back, why she had 
that lamp in her hand when I discovered her, and why she 
had a second time returned to the west wing. 

I was fatigued, having walked a matter of fourteen miles 
in all since starting out from Faulcondale. I should have 
been glad to sit down and watch the burning of the distant 
house. I told Mrs. Norman that if she felt tired she could 
safely rest awhile, but she would not hear of it. 

“ Let us get away, far away,” she said ; “ give me the bag, 
it is my turn to carry it.” 

So we trudged on to Barstow. We met not a soul on the 
way, and when we got to the station the door was locked, 
and there was no light to be seen except in the signal post ; 
the gate of the hotel stable-yard was bolted also. I could 
find no shelter for Mrs. Norman ; for my own part, I was 


28 o 


FOUND GUILTY. 


SO fagged out I could have gone to sleep leaning against a 
wall. Mrs. Norman seemed unable to rest in one place for 
two minutes together. 

For a couple of weary hours we dragged about the neigh- 
borhood of the station. Then hearing footsteps approach, 
I took Mrs. Norman a little distance from the road to escape 
X)bservation, and there we waited and watched. 

It was a railway porter ; he opened the station door and 
went inside whistling. Every sound fell distinctly on our 
ears — his footsteps, the turning of a key, the scratching of a 
match, the banging of a door. Presently a light appeared, 
and he came out and stuck a lamp in the case outside the 
station, then he went in and lit another in the booking 
office ; after that we heard him jump down on the line and 
cross the gravelled way, then he lit a couple of lamps on the 
up-platform. That was satisfactory. 

“ Shall we go in and get our tickets ? ” asked Mrs. Norman. 

“ No, not yet ; we must wait till the last moment. We 
don’t want to give the porter anything to talk about.” 

We waited, Mrs. Norman shivering with excitement. An 
electric bell tinkled, the signal changed with a rattle, the 
porter still whistled by fits and starts, going from one part 
of the station to another. A door in the village banged, and 
soon after fresh footsteps came briskly along the road. A 
man went into the station ; we heard the jingling of keys, 
the opening of a door and the manipulation of a ticket-stamping 
machine, then voices in the office talking. 

“ Isn’t it time ? ” asked Mrs. Norman. 

“ No, we will wait until they have done talking.” 

We waited until the voices ceased to speak ; a door 
clattered, and the porter began again to whistle on the 
platform. 

“ Now,” said I, and we went softly to the station and into 
the booking-office, where Mrs. Norman stood in the dark 
while I went up to the pay place. The young man was 
leaning with his face on his hand, amusing himself b^^ jabbing 
a penknife in the desk. 

“Two, Liverpool, second,” said I. 

He drew out the tickets, stamped them and handed them 
to me, telling me to change at Preston. As he spoke he 
bent down to look through the hole, curious to know who it 
was going on at that hour. I kept my head out of the light 


FOUND GUILTY. 


281 


as well as I could. But he was not satisfied, and as Mrs. 
Norman and I slipped out on to the platform we heard the 
handle of the office door turn. I told Mrs. Norman to bend 
her shoulders, for I felt sure he had come to the door to 
satisfy his curiosity. She did as I told her to do, and we 
crossed the line. Just then we heard the train coming. 
The porter came along swinging his lamp ; he was inquisi- 
tive also. When he took the two tickets to nip them he 
turned the lamp towards Mrs. Norman, who stood a few 
paces from me. 

I felt we had done wrong to take that train, and that we 
ought to have awaited until daylight, when we should have 
excited no curiosity. 

However, nothing happened to prevent us getting to 
Liverpool and taking the boat from there to Douglas. We 
arrived at the island in safety that evening — though I doubt 
if we should have arrived there at all had I known before- 
hand what it is like to be seasick. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS- CRAIK CONTINUED. 

It was dark when we arrived. We stopped at the hotel 
opposite the Grand Theatre. There were no other visitors 
there. Mrs. Norman was asked to write her name in the 
office book. She wrote as I had instructed her, “ Mrs. Beach 
and servant.” 

The next morning after breakfast we went out to seek 
apartments, and, naturally, we took the broad road facing 
the bay. We met no one in the whole length of the esplanade. 
It was absolutely deserted. The windows of the lower floors 
in the row of fine houses were shuttered ; those above were 
dismantled of blind and curtain. 

“ We have come to the right place for seclusion,” I said to 
Mrs. Norman. We walked back the way we had come and 
observed remarkable signs of activity. Shutters were being 
thrown open, curtains hastily put up, and cards with “ rooms 


282 


FOUND GUILTY. 


to let ” hung up. We had been seen. I saw that I had made 
a great mistake to go along there with Mrs. Norman gaping 
up at the empty houses. 

From one end of the esplanade to the other it would be 
known that two visitors had arrived at this extraordinary 
season for visits. It was like advertising our arrival. 

However, it seemed so unlikely that Dr. Norman would 
suspect and trace us to the island that I did not give much 
importance to this fact — less than I ought to, no doubt. It 
was one more of those slight errors which have so often 
involved me in their serious consequences. 

We turned up the hill, and in a side street found a quiet 
house with cheerful rooms at the back looking over the bay. 
These suited Mrs. Norman ; a garret suited me. 

Sea-side lodging-house keepers are not vej^y fastidious 
about their customers — there is no nonsense about references 
or anything of that kind, especially in an off season, so the 
landlady was content to let Mrs. Norman be reticent as to 
the cause of her coming to the Isle of Man ; but the good 
old Manx woman, having nothing better to do, spent a good 
deal of time in pumping me. I was never at a loss to invent 
a story, and indulged her in a good long one — only taking 
care to keep in mind the salient points that I might ngt con- 
tradict myself. These points were that Mr. Beach was 
captain of the City of Bristol., a merchant sailing ship, which 
left St. Katherine’s docks on September the 14th, on a 
voyage to China. Mrs. Beach, I told her, had been greatly 
cut up by his departure, and had been recommended by her 
medical man to recruit her health and spirits in the Isle of 
Man. To account for my accompanying her, I made out 
that I was a poor second cousin owing much to Captain 
Beach’s charity. The old lady was very pleased with my 
facts and fancies, and taught me to play cribbage, at which 
interesting game I invariably won small sums from her. 

I had fully expected that when the excitement was over 
Mrs. Norman would be knocked up by the fatigue and mental 
strain to which she had been subjected. But this was not 
the case. The freedom and sense of security compensated 
her for what she had undergone, and every day she grew 
brighter and stronger, so that at the end of a couple of 
weeks she looked younger and better than ever I had seen 
her. I was glad to see this, for I felt sure it would be to my 


FOUND GUILTY. 283 

advantage when the time came for Captain Bromley to show 
his recognition of my services. 

I managed to dispose of Mrs. Norman’s trinkets to advan- 
tage, and this, with the funds I had, enabled me to go on com- 
fortably ; but I saw that before long we should need more 
money, and this I hinted to her one day when we were alone. 
She listened to me with great calmness, she being now as 
reasonable as most women, and this emboldened me to sug- 
gest that we should in a roundabout way communicate with 
Captain Bromley, and ask his assistance. 

“ No,” she said, “ I will not do that. I have no claim upon 
him. I am not related to him in any way. He is married. 
It is not fair to lay a burden on his shoulders which I am 
now quite capable of supporting myself.” 

I knew she had a claim upon him. I felt sure that Mrs. 
Bromley had made some provision for her also. But I did 
not think it necessary to tell her yet of the secret discovered 
by Esther Norton. 

“ I must look about for some occupation,” she said cheer- 
fully. 

I felt that she might look about a long while on the Isle 
of Man for occupation without finding it. But I kept this 
to myself, and let her buy Manx papers and study the adver- 
tisements without comment. Here was another oversight. 
A week afterwards she pointed out an advertisement in the 
Manxma7i : 

“ A LADY, aged twenty-six, of good education, seeks moderately re- 
munerative occupation in Douglas. Address, Mrs. Beach, 22, Sackville 
Street, Douglas.” 

She had inserted this advertisement without consulting me, 
and it was just the sort of thing Dr. Norman would look for 
if he happened to be in pursuit of us. 

That was on Saturday night. On Sunday morning Mrs. 
Norman went to church ; I took a walk to the Head. It was 
wonderfully clear and bright. I saw the Cumberland hills 
distinctly. When I got home about a quarter-past one, the 
landlady met me in the passage. 

“ I don’t know what’s the matter with your missis, young 
man,” she said, “ but she came in looking like a ghost, and I 
couldn’t get a word out of her. She’s gone upstairs, and 
shut herself in the drawing-room. You’d better go and see 


284 


FOUND GUILTY. 


what’s amiss, for the leg o’ mutton is biling to rags, and the 
turnips has been mashed this half-hour.” 

I ran upstairs and tapped at the door. There was no 
answer. I tapped again ; then Mrs. Norman spoke in a low 
voice, tremulous with fear. 

“ Who is there ? ” she asked. 

“ I, ma’am.” 

She unlocked the door and opened it. Her appearance 
was quite changed, and recalled to my mind the morning we 
fled from Barstow, when she stood in the ghastly, flickering 
light of the station lamp. There was the same pallor in her 
cheeks, and wild, hunted look in her eyes. 

“ I have seen him. He is come to take me back,” she 
said, in a tone hardly above a w^hisper. 

“ Who ? ” I said. 

“ Norman — my husband.” Then shutting the door and 
turning the key, she grasped my hand, and in a tone of sup- 
plication said, “You won’t betray me, you won’t betray me ? 
You will save me? You will still be good tome? Oh! 
you will be rewarded if you will do this for a helpless, un- 
happy woman 1 ” 

“No fear, ma’am,” said I ; “I ain’t got you away from him 
to let him get you back again. Did he see you ? ” 

“ No ; I had my veil on, and I kept beside two ladies who 
had lent me their book at church ; there were many people. 
He stood on the other side of the way looking at the stream 
of people, but I feel sure he did not recognize me.” 

“ It wouldn’t much matter if he had. He cannot touch 
you here — the House of Keys won’t let him.” 

I said this to encourage her, but without much faith in the 
House of Keys. 

“ What you must do is to keep indoors for a few days, and 
give the old woman downstairs nothing to talk about. So I 
advise you to let me bring you up your dinner at once. I’ll 
explain all to the landlady. And you must eat and keep up 
your strength and courage in case of need.” 

“ I will do as you tell me. I will try and eat. Oh, heaven 
bless you, my friend ! ” 

I went down and told the old woman a story which satisfied 
her mind ; and then I took the tray upstairs and laid the 
table as usual. 

Mrs. Norman tried to smile and look brave, and seated 


FOUND GUILTY. 


285 

herself to eat, though with what appetite one can imagine. 
It was piteous to see how anxious she was to obey and com 
ciliate me. 

I went down to take my meal with the landlady. In the 
window of her parlor, which looked into the street, she had 
hung a card with “ Apartments to let ” on it, in the hope that, 
having succeeded in catching one late visitor, she might get 
another. 

While the good woman was gone to the cellar to drav/ a 
jug of ale I whipped down the announcement, and slipped it 
out of sight behind the dresser. But for all this I was by no 
means easy in my mind. If Dr. Norman had traced us to 
Douglas he would not leave until he knew whether we had 
left or not. And then that unfortunate advertisement in the 
Manxma7t was a clew which he would certainly find and fol- 
low up. With these thorns rankling in my side I had much 
to do to keep up a flow of small talk, and avert the landlady’s 
observation. 

As soon as the church-bell began to clang in the afternoon 
the old woman went out in her best, and I went upstairs to 
keep Mrs. Norman company. As we were sitting there, 
both pretending to be at our ease, while thinking at the same 
time of the possibility of Dr. Norman tracking us down, a 
ring at the door-bell stopped our conversation abruptly, and 
took my breath away at the same time. 

“ It is he — it is he ! ” gasped Mrs. Norman, clasping her 
hands in terror. 

“ So much the better,” said I, as fiercely as I could ; “ he 
shall know that he has somebody besides a helpless woman 
to deal with. Lock the door and don’t fear.” 

But what in the world I was to do if it was Dr. Norman at 
the door I could not tell. I had no wish to nieasure my 
strength with his. Some vague notion of cutting the bell wire 
and letting him pull at the bell until he was tired out occurred 
to me, but before putting the notion into execution I ran 
down to the kitchen, where one could obtain a side-long view 
of the doorstep from the window. To my great 'relief I dis- 
covered that the visitor was a little boy of eight or ten years. 
I went up at once and opened the door. 

“ What do you want ? ” I asked. 

“ Want to see gran’ma,” replied the boy. 

“ Come in,” said I ; “ grandma will be home presently.” 


286 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I was glad to get him into the house, for I felt perfectly 
sure Dr. Norman would call — his presence in the neighbor- 
hood showed that he had the clue to his wife’s whereabouts 
— and I thought that the little boy might be of service. It is 
wrong to tell lies, and improper to make a child the instru- 
ment of duplicity, but I hope I shall be forgiven for my pro- 
ceedings in this case. 

“Your grandma has gone with a lady and gentleman who 
have been lodging here to see them off by the half-past three 
o’clock boat,” I said. 

“ I know my way to the boat ; shall I go and find granny ? ” 
said the child. 

“ No,” I replied, “ you might fall in the water. You stay 
here, and I’ll cut you out a boat.” 

He agreed readily to this proposition, and I got a stick of 
firewood and began to cut out a boat, telling him from time 
to time that his grandmother had gone with her lodgers to 
see them off by the boat, in order to impress it upon his 
tender memory. 

The kitchen was below the level of the road — from where 
I sat I could just see the legs of people passing along the 
pavement, and whenever I heard a footstep, which was not 
frequently, I took care to cast my eye that way. 

' It had just struck three when my ear caught the sound of 
steps on the pavement, and a minute afterwards I sighted a 
pair of legs in dark-gray trousers. They stopped just in front 
of the window. My heart went up into my mouth, for there 
was character in Dr. Norman down to his boots, and I was 
sure it was he outside there. 

He moved on, and the next moment there was a “ driling 
dring, ding,” at the little bell in the passage. 

“ There’s someone at the door, Georgie,” I said ; “ you can 
go and see who it is while I finish the boat. You know 
where your grandma is, if it’s anyone to see her.” 

“ Yes, I know ; you’ve told me free or four times,” replied 
the child, and then he ran upstairs. I followed to the foot 
and listened, holding my breath. 

The door opened, and I heard Dr. Norman’s voice — there 
was no mistaking it. 

“ Is Mrs. Beach at home ? ” he asked. 

There was no answer. I thought the child had forgotten 
his lesson already ; but evidently he did not understand the 


FO UND G UIL TY. 287 

question, not knowing the name asked, for Dr. Norman put 
his question in another way. 

“ Is the lady who lodges here at home .? ” he asked. 

“Ve lodgers hes gone down to the half-past free boat, and 
gran’mover’s gone wiv ’em to see ’em off,” replied Georgie. 

“ What lodgers t ” asked Dr. Norman quickly. 

“ Ve lady and genelman.” 

No more was said. I heard a quick step outside, and then 
the door was slammed. 

“ Which way did the gentleman go, Georgie ? ” I asked. 

“ Towards Souf Street. He looked at his watch, and off he 
went running.” 

By South Street was the nearest way to the pier. Looking 
at the clock, I saw that Dr. Norman would just have time to 
get there before the boat started, and it was not likely he 
would stay behind, believing his wife to be in the ladies’ 
cabin. 

I ran upstairs to Mrs. Norman, whom I found in a terrible 
state of agitation, and told her what had happened. 

Heaven grant he may get there before the boat starts ! ” 
she said. 

“ Well,” said I, “ I almost hope he may not. If he misses 
if he will take the next boat, and may run all over England 
to find us ; but if he catches it, he will find before he’s half- 
way to Liverpool that we have cheated him.” 

“ What then ? ” 

“ What then, ma’am ? — why, he’ll come back by the next 
boat.” 

“ What is to be done ? ” she asked. “ Tell me what I am 
to do.” 

“ Sit down, ma’am, and when you are calm enough to 
hold a pen, write a short note to Mrs. Brady, our landlady, 
saying we are compelled to leave at once ; enclose a sovereign, 
and then put on your bonnet. Meanwhile, with your permis- 
sion, ma’am. I’ll be packing your bag.” 

She carried out my instructions, and when we were all 
ready to go I took her letter downstairs into the kitchen, 
where Georgie had got hold of my knife, and was trying to 
finish the boat. I showed him the letter, and told him to 
give it to his grandmother when she came in, gave him a 
table-knife in exchange for mine, and bidding him be a good 
boy and not cut himself, left him there hard at work. All 


288 


FOUND GUILTY. 


this took but a short space of time ; it was but little over the 
half-hour as we left Sackville Road, so that we had but slight 
fear of meeting Dr. Norman, even supposing he had not gone 
by the boat. 

I took Mrs. Norman up the hill, and made my w'ay round 
into the road opposite the Gaiety Theatre, and so got down 
to the railway station, where by a lucky chance we had to 
wait but ten minutes for the train that took us on to Ram- 
say. 

We went to the Royal Hotel at Ramsay, for I saw that it 
would not do to stay long there, where concealment was even 
less practicable than at Douglas. After tea I went into Mrs. 
Norman’s sitting-room to know if she wanted anything. I 
found her in a state of intense nervous excitement, pacing up 
and down the room. 

She said it was impossible for her to rest. 

I asked her if she would take a walk by way of composing 
her mind. She refused. 

“ He will find me, and take me back. I am lost ! I am 
lost ! ” she exclaimed, wringing her hands. 

I tried to assure her there was nothing to fear, but my 
efforts were useless. She told me to leave her, saying that my 
presence would create suspicion, and I left her. 

When I came downstairs the next morning from my room, 
the landlord called me into his private room, and, shutting 
the door, asked me who my mistress was, and what she had 
done. 

I told him pretty much the same story I had given Mrs. 
Brady, and then asked why he had thought fit to question me 
upon her affairs. 

“Well,” said he, “the lady’s been walking about her room 
the whole night long, and talking to herself the best part of 
the time. If she is out of her mind, I cannot take the 
responsibility of having her in my house, and if she is ill she 
had better see a doctor at once.” 

I went to Mrs. Norman, and found her flushed and excited ; 
she was not clear-headed. For a few minutes she would talk 
rationally, and then rambled off into subjects that had noth- 
ing to do with the question. 

She told me that she had not slept, and could not rest. 
When I proposed that she should see a doctor she readily 
agreed — “ Anything that will give me calm,” she said. 


FOUND GUILTY. ' 289 

I told the proprietor that my mistress felt unwell, and 
would see a doctor, and he sent at once for him. 

The doctor came and saw Mrs. Norman ; when he left her 
he said to me : 

“ You must communicate with Mrs. Beach’s friends at 
once. Her brain has been overtaxed ; there are strong symp- 
toms of fever.” 

“ And if she has a fever, sir, what then ? ” 

“ What then ! why, it may prove fatal, and she ought to 
have friends about her, and be properly nursed.” 

Here was a pretty state of things : Dr. Norman on my 
heels, Mrs. Norman down with a fever, and our funds reduced 
to about four pounds ten. I had taken the lady under my 
protection, and should be held responsible for her safety. 
If she died there would be an end to the benefit for which I 
had been working ; for in that case Captain Bromley would 
have nothing to be grateful for, but might, as likely as not, 
turn round and rate me for the course I had taken. There 
is no excuse for those who fail ; no one thanks them for try- 
ing to succeed, or thinks how much they would have owed 
them had they succeeded. 

As these reflections fell upon my mind, I resolved to com- 
municate with Captain Bromley at once. I went to the post- 
office and wired off this message. 

“ From To 

William Peters. Captain V. Bromley, 

Fairlawn, Wimbledon. 

“ Mrs. Norman is litre., dangerously ill. Dr. Norman is 
on our track. What shall I do 

“ Address., Thomas Waters, Royal Hotel, Ramsay 

“ When do you think I can get an answer to this ” I 
asked of the young man. 

“ Depends on the London office — an hour or two, perhaps.” 

The whole morning passed, and no answer came, and for 
a very good reason — Captain Bromley was abroad, and Fair- 
lawn was empty and shut up. 

My anxiety increased, nor did it diminish as time went on, 
and no wonder, either, as I am about to show. 

In the afternoon the doctor paid Mrs. Norman a second 
^9 


290. 


FOUND GUILTY, 


visit. He gave me a prescription to get made up at the 
chemist’s. 

“ There is no improvement in the symptoms,” he said, 
“ none at all. I shall come again to-morrow morning, but 
if the medicine does no good and Mrs. Beach grows more 
unsettled towards the evening, you had better telegraph for 
me, and I will drive over if there is no train. There is my 
address.” 

I took his card and read the address, “ Douglas.” It 
seemed as if everything was against us. In Dr. Norman’s 
position, I myself should have gone first of all to the doctor 
in Douglas to know if he had any patients answering to his 
wife’s description. While this thought was passing through 
my mind, the doctor added : 

“ By the way, have you been staying at Douglas ? ” 

I said, “ Yes,” having no time to fabricate a story. 

“ That is odd. I was asked on Saturday if a lady in a 
delicate state of health, who had come lately to the island, 
attended by a man-servant, had sent for me. It may have 
been a friend of Mrs. Beach’s who inquired — a spare, dark 
gentleman, with a close-cut beard.” 

I assured him I had never seen such a person in my life *, 
but I saw that he went away unconvinced of my sincerity. 

“ If he meets Dr. Norman, he’ll satisfy his curiosity on 
that point,” I said to myself, “ and it will be all up with us.” 

I asked at what time the boat went out, and heard that 
there were only two a week, and that if we did not get away 
by the steamer the following morning, we should have to stay 
till Saturday. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


291 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK CONTINUED. 


The more I considered the predicament in which we were 
placed, the more anxious I became to get away from Ramsay 
the next morning. It was no better than a trap in which 
we might starve or await the tender mercies of Dr. Norman. 
I was speculating on the advisability of wiring to Mr. Grote, 
the solicitor, when about half-past four a messenger from 
the post-office brought a telegram for Thomas Waters (the 
name I had taken). Here it is : 


“ From 

E. Norton, 

Woldhurst, Chislehurst, 

Kent. 


To Thomas Waters, 

Royal Hotel, 

Ramsay, 

Isle of Man. 


“ Captain Brownley is travelling with his wife in foreign 
parts. There is no one at Fairlawn. Your telegram has bee?i 
sejit 071 to me. If you caii give satisfactory explanation I may 
help youf 

There were several reasons why I had not written to Esther 
Norton telling her of what had happened, but the principal 
one was that I had not seen the possibility of requiring her 
assistance. I lost no time, however, in replying to her. 

“ I shall be in London to-morrow or the day after,” I 
wired ; “ I will let you know when and where you can meet 
us. You shall have all the explanation you require.” 

The chambermaid told me that my mistress had fallen 
asleep after taking the medicine prescribed by the doctor. 
I was glad of this, as favoring her departure the next day. 
I told the girl on no account to disturb Mrs. Beach, but to 
let me know when she did awake. She slept until seven ; 
she sent for me the moment she awoke. Her excitement 
was not abated by the rest she had taken. 


292 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ Has he come yet ? ” she asked eagerly, the moment we 
were alone. 

“ No, ma’am, and there’s no likelihood of his coming before 
mid-day to-morrow ; by that time the sea will lie between 
him and us, if you are equal to making the voyage.” 

“ Oh, I shall be strong enough — quite strong enough — I 
have slept. That has done me good. I am better.” 

“ If you can sleep to-night there will be no reason for de- 
laying our departure.” 

She promised she would sleep — as if it were in her power 
to command sleep ! — and I left her packing the bag as though 
she had not a moment to spare. "UTen I told the hotel pro- 
prietor what the doctor had said about the probability of 
fever, he was as anxious that we should get out of his hotel 
as I was. He went with me to the quay to be sure about 
the hour of starting. We were told that the boat would start 
at eight. I knew the proprietor would not let me oversleep 
myself. The excellent man got us on board the next morn- 
ing before half-past seven. Mrs. Norman went below at once. 
I stayed on deck watching the pier until the boat steamed 
off ; Dr. Norman was not then in sight, but I did not feel at 
ease until we were out of hail, and return was impossible. 

We reached Barrow in the afternoon, and stayed there 
until 10.35, there being no earlier train. In the meantime 
I telegraphed to Esther Norton, telling her we should be at 
St. Pancras at 5.50 the next morning, and intimating that 
if I did not find her there I should seek her at Woldhurst, 
wherever that might be. I knew very little about sickness, 
but it was obvious to me that Mrs. Norman was getting worse 
instead of better. Her condition attracted the attention of 
the guard. At every stoppage he came to see us, offering 
what help he could. He procured a foot-warmer, and brought 
a thick overcoat to wrap round her, for she was terribly cold, 
and shivered to such a degree that it was painful to see her. 
She complained of thirst, and he brought her water to drink 
from time to time. This was very good and kind of the 
man ; nevertheless, it filled me with apprehensions. It was 
the evidence Dr. Norman would seek when he learnt from 
the Douglas doctor or from the hotel proprietor at Ramsay 
the condition in which his wife had left the island, and would 
help him to trace us. 

Early as it was when we reached St. Pancras, Esther Norton 


FOUND GUILTY. 


293 


was on the platform to meet us. I saw her tall, ladylike 
figure as she stood under a gas lamp ; I held out my hand 
as a signal, and she came to the door with the guard of the 
train. 

Mrs. Norman was unable to stand ; the guard and I had 
to lift her out of the carriage. A cab was called, and we got 
her into it. While the guard ran back to the carriage for 
the bag, Esther Norton and I held a hurried consultation. 

“ Where is Captain Bromley } ” I asked. 

“ Abroad ; he will not return for a week.” 

“ Where will he stay when he returns ? ” Miss Norton , 
pursed up her lips, and seemed disinclined to answer. “ At 
Woldhurst ? ” She made no reply. “ Don’t be stupid,” I 
said angrily. “ If you won’t help Mrs. Norman, you can go 
about your business, and I’ll report your obstructiveness 
to Captain Bromley when he comes back. Besides, I can 
find out from Mr. Grote, the solicitor.” 

At this moment the guard ran up with the bag ; and, putting 
it in, spoke a few kind words to poor Mrs. Norman. 

“ Quick,” I said ; “ is it Woldhurst ?” 

“ Yes,” she said, after a moment’s reluctance ; and at my 
direction she took the seat beside Mrs. Norman. I gave the 
guard half a crown, and took the seat opposite to Mrs. 
Norman and Esther. 

“ Where to ? ” asked the station policeman, who had come 
up. 

When I said Woldhurst, the cabman asked where that 
was. Esther said it was at Chislehurst. The cabman 
grumbled at the distance. The policeman wrote the name and 
the number of the cab in his note-book. Then I regretted that 
I had not mentioned some other place, and changed cabs to 
break the clue ; but it was too late now. The mischief was 
done. 

The rattling of the cab prevented any conversation between 
Esther and me ; and I had enough to occupy my mind in 
arranging how to keep Mrs. Norman out of her husband’s 
hands during the next week. 

I did not write to seek the assistance of Mr. Grote, for I 
had no high opinion of his practical ability in helping Mrs. 
Norman ; moreover, I saw that the less aid the stronger my 
claim would be upon Captain Bromley’s gratitude. Half a 
dozen schemes presented themselves to my mind, for the 


294 


FOUND GUILTY. 


jogging of the cab seemed to stimulate my wits ; but at 
length I pitched upon one that seemed out and away better 
than the rest. I think it will be admitted that my scheme 
was an ingenious one. It appeared so to me, and I was 
impatient to get to our journey’s end, that I might test its 
practicability in conference with Esther Norton. 

It was nearly nine o’clock when the jaded horse dragged 
the cab past the lodge-house and took us up to the door of 
Captain Bromley’s pretty house. Here Esther was mistr^s. 
Her command over the servants was absolute. 

“ Don’t mention Mrs. Norman’s name,” I whispered, as 
she called to one of the maids. 

She cast a glance at me, as much as to say, “ I’m not such 
a fool as you take me to be,” and proceeded to give her orders. 

Mrs. Norman had slept by fits and starts through the long 
journey — never for more than a few minutes, without a 
change of position. When we took her from the cab she 
was helplessly confused, and apparently unconscious of her 
surroundings. 

A fire was speedily lit in one of the bedrooms, and thither 
Mrs. Norman was carried. I went downstairs. When 
Esther had put Mrs. Norman to bed, she came down to me. 

“ Now, Mr. Peters,” she said, assuming a very distant and 
cold demeanor, “ you will be good enough to explain things. 
You have tried to keep Mrs. Norman in your own hands, and 
taken an unfair advantage of my confidence in you.” 

“ Nothing of the sort,” I replied. “ If I had wanted to do 
that, why should I come to you at the last moment, when I 
am about to be repaid for all I have undergone in saving 
Mrs.- Norman ? Why did I not seek the assistance of Mr. 
Grote, who actually told me to apply to him if I needed 
help ? I know I have not answered your letters, nor com- 
municated with you, but you shall have ample reason for 
all that when we have time to talk about such trifles. We 
have matters of importance to think about. It is not suffi- 
cient to have brought Mrs. Norman here ; we must keep her. 
If we do that we may name our own reward for the service ; 
if we don’t — if we lose her — then we may expect to get 
piper’s pay and nothing but it. Dr. Norman is after his 
wife ; if he finds her here, neither you nor I, with all your 
servants, and Mr. Grote, the lawyer, at the back of ’em, can 
keep her out of his hands. He’s on our track, and in twenty- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


295 


four hours he’ll be knocking at the door, and asking for his 
wife.” 

This brought Esther to her senses. I saw that she was 
at a loss for any plan to resist Dr. Norman. Women have 
no inventive power. But they won’t acknowledge their 
deficiency. 

“What do you propose to do, Mr. Peters ?” she asked, in a 
milder tone, yet with a certain dignity which seemed to 
imply that if she only chose she could manage the whole 
concern for herself. 

“ Captain Bromley has taken his wife abroad with him, of 
course ” I said. 

“Yes.” 

“ Where were they married ? ” 

“ Wimbledon.” 

“ Directly after the marriage they went abroad ?” 

“A short time after.” 

“ Where are Mrs. Bromley’s friends — the old philosopher 
and the housekeeper ? ” 

“ Mr. Schlobach is in Germany ; Miss Trevor returned to 
Faulcondale.” 

“ Are any of the servants here who were with old Mrs. 
Bromley, and knew Mrs. Valentine .? ” 

“ The cook ; that is the only one. I can trust her ; she 
wants me to engage her husband as lodge-keeper.” 

“ The cook is the stout party who came out to the cab t ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then we must trust her, as she has seen Mrs. Norman.” 

“ I don’t quite follow you.” 

“ Wait a moment. Do you think anyone else here — 
anyone in the neighborhood — knows Mrs. Valentine Brom- 
ley 1 ” 

“ No, no one, unless it is the house-agent at Chislehurst 
who showed them the house.” 

“ There’s not much to fear from him. Now, when do you 
expect Mrs. Bromley to come back ? ” 

“ In a week — about the 27th or 28th. Captain Bromley 
will let me know a day or two before, that I may have the 
house ready.” 

“ That’s exactly what we want ! ” said I joyfully. “ There’s 
no reason that I can see why we should not put my scheme 
in operation. And we must do it at once, for Mrs. Norman 


FOUND GUILTY. 


296 

must be attended by a doctor without delay. Now, Miss 
Norton, go and see the cook before she has time to talk to 
the servants, and let her know that if she wants to keep her 
place, and obtain the situation of lodge-keeper for her hus- 
band, she must keep our secret, and carry out the instruc- 
tions she receives from you to the letter.” 

“ We can rely upon her. What instructions am I to give ? ” 

“ In the first place, she must go downstairs and let all the 
servants know that the sick lady upstairs is their mistress — 
Mrs. Valentine Bromley.” 

“ Mrs. Valentine Bromley? ” 

“ Yes. By that means we can defy Dr. Norman. We 
must have it known all round that this Mrs. Valentine Brom- 
ley has returned. Let Dr. Norman inquire as he may, he 
will learn nothing but that. Do what he will, he can’t get at 
her and take her away. But without this plan, nothing can 
prevent him from getting an order from the magistrate for 
the restoration of his wife. If she goes out of our hands, our 
prospects are ruined.” 

“ I understand. But when the real Mrs. Valentine comes 
home ” 

“ Leave that to me. You say Captain Bromley will give 
you warning of his return ? That will enable us to arrange 
matters with him. Run upstairs at once, and come down 
again as soon as you have had your talk with the cook.” 

While she was gone, I turned over in my mind what was 
to be done about a doctor. My experience at Ramsay 
warned me to have nothing to do with a local doctor ; from 
him Dr. Norman might learn particulars regarding the 
patient which would identify Mrs. Norman and blow up my 
stratagem. 

Before I had settled who was to be called in, Esther 
Norton came down. 

“ I have made the cook understand what is necessary, and 
she is only too glad to help us,” said she. “ The servants 
are already learning from her that the sick lady is Mrs. 
Valentine Bromley. We ought to send for the doctor im- 
mediately. Mrs. Norman is quite delirious.” 

I told her my difficulty about a doctor. She was able to 
help me. 

Before taking service with Mrs. Bromley at Wimbledon, 
Esther had been housemaid to Dr. McCullock, in Saville 


FOUND GUILTY. 


297 

Row. She proposed that we should telegraph for him. This 
was a good idea, and I undertook to go to the post-office my- 
self and wire him. I told Esther in the meantime to place 
someone in the lodge-house, with instructions to tell any 
visitors that Mrs. Valentine Bromley was too ill to receive 
visits, and to let no one pass on any account. 

I went to the post-office, and sent a telegram, with prepaid 
reply, to Dr. McCullock, asking him to come at once, and to 
state at what time a carriage should be at Chislehurst Station 
to meet him ; and, having nothing of immediate importance 
to take me back to Woldhurst, I stayed at the office for his 
answer. It came in about two hours. Dr. McCullock would 
be at Chislehurst Station at 1.15. 

I went to Woldhurst. A man was already installed in the 
lodge ; he had seen me arrive with the cab, and let me pass. 
In reply to my question, he said that no one had called. 
Esther was upstairs with Mrs. Norman. The poor lady was 
completely unconscious of me. There was no danger in 
talking before her. 

“ Dr. McCullock will ask about Mrs. Bromley — what story 
shall we make up for him } ” I asked. 

“We need not trouble ourselves about that,” said she. 
“ Servants are not supposed to know anything about the 
affairs of their employers. It will be quite sufficient to say 
that Mrs. Valentine came home in this alarming condition, 
and that I thought it advisable to send for him upon my own 
responsibility in the absence of Captain Bromley. He won’t 
inquire into particulars. He will be satisfied by the look 
of the house that his fees are all right. That’s all he looks 
at. Oh ! these doctors have more mysterious cases than 
this to deal with, I assure you. The separation of a newly- 
married husband and wife — the illness of the wife — these 
are things common enough in the upper circles. I have not 
lived ten months in a doctor’s family without learning some- 
thing about these affairs.” 

I was very well content with this arrangement, for I did 
not want to tell unnecessary lies. They are dangerous tools 
to work with, and as like as not to cut the operator’s fingers 
for all his care in using them. 

A carriage was sent to fetch the doctor, and he arrived in 
due time, I keeping out of sight, as it seemed to me advis- 
able. He prescribed for Mrs. Norman, was perfectly satis- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


298 

fied with the brief statement of Esther Norton, and left, 
promising to send a qualified nurse, and to call at the same 
time the following day. 

For three days Mrs. Norman was delirious, and in extreme 
danger of losing her life. Then her complaint took a favor- 
able turn, and on the fourth day the doctor pronounced that 
she had passed the crisis, and, unless she suffered a relapse, 
would recover. 

Her first words on recovering her senses were to ask for 
me. Esther took me to her bedside, and I told her what 
had happened since we left Barrow\ I assured her she was 
now out of danger from her husband, and that in a few days 
Captain Bromley would come to protect her. 

But this announcement, instead of comforting her, revived 
her old dread. Burying her thin face in the pillow, she 
cried : 

“ It is all in vain, all in vain! I cannot escape. Valen- 
tine does not care for me. He is married ; why should he 
keep his wife out of the house for me ? He will want to get 
me away : he will give me up to my husband.” 

“ No, ma’am,” I said, “ he will do no such thing. He will 
keep you here as his wife until he has obtained legal means 
for separating you from Dr. Norman.” 

“ That is folly ; it cannot be. Do you think his wife will 
tolerate that? Not if she loves him. I am not an old 
woman ; it is impossible.” 

“ Calm yourself, ma’am,” said I ; “ the doctor warns us 
that excitement is to be dreaded. Your life depends upon 
calm.” 

“ My life ! who wishes me to live ? Not I — nor Valentine, 
nor his wife — not anybody in the world.” 

I tried to assure her that all would be well, but she would 
not accept my assurance. When I begged her to be reason- 
able, she retorted : 

“ I am reasonable. I see it all only too clearly. I tell 
you Valentine cannot keep me in this house as his wife. It 
is preposterous. No wife would suffer that.” 

She was so excited, that to avoid a relapse I took Esther 
aside, and told her that we must reveal our secret. This 
young woman had in the last few days become so con- 
vinced of my discretion and ability to conduct this matter 
to our mutual advantage, that she did not offer any objec- 


FOUND GUILTY. 


299 

tion, and at my suggestion left the room. Then I approached 
the bedside, where Mrs. Norman lay with her hands covering 
her face. 

“ Mrs. Norman,” I said, “ I am going to show you that 
Captain Bromley cannot give you up — that he must make 
any sacrifice, even temporary sacrifice of his wife’s happiness, 
to keep you here, and that he may do so without prejudice 
to his wife, even though you are a young and beautiful 
woman.” 

“What do you tell me ? ” she asked, looking up in wonder. 

“ What I have to tell you is of a very delicate nature, but 
at a time like this one must set aside all considerations but 
that of your repose and tranquillity. You imagine that 
Captain Bromley has no interest in you because he is not 
related to you by any tie of kindred. But that is not the 
fact. He is your brother.” 

“ My brother ! ” 

“ Your brother. His mother was your mother, though 
your father was not his.” 

“ Is this possible ? ” 

“ Yes ; Mr. Valentine will not deny it when you ask him, 
though he would never have told you voluntarily. His mother 
wished to conceal her own shame, and to spare you the pain 
of her own dishonor. She made her son promise secrecy, but 
she told him all, that he might not forsake you in your trou- 
bles. You know him well enough to be convinced that he 
will not forsake you.” 

“ My brother, my brother ! 1’ she said, in a tone of bewil- 
derment,. and it was a long time before she quite realized the 
fact. Then for awhile there seemed to be a conflict of shame 
and love in her breast ; but love prevailed, and a smile of 
happiness lit up her face as she repeated, in a soft tone, “ My 
brother ! ” 

“ Yes, I am sure that now he will not let me be taken 
away,” she said later on. “ He will keep me here if it is 
necessary. But his wife ! She cannot come here — the ser- 
vants would betray me. She could not conceal the real posi- 
tion from them if she would. And she must be jealous of 
me; for Valentine cannot tell her that I am his sister, nor 
can I, for his mother’s sake.” 

This, indeed, was a reasonable supposition, and one I had 
not foreseen. 


300 


FOUND GUILTY. 


He cannot tell her that,” she continued, “ and how is he 
to prevent unhappiness unless he does ? ” 

I reflected a few minutes, and then I said : 

“ He will keep his wife out of the way until you are in 
safety, and trust to his wife’s confidence in his love.” 

“ You do not understand our jealous dispositions,” she an- 
swered. “ No matter how she loves him, she cannot, being 
separated from him, reconcile herself to his being here with 
me. He may appeal to her pity, tell her of my position, but 
it will not satisfy her ; she will only see that I am a young 
woman, and a possible rival. I am sure Valentine will not 
betray his mother’s secret.” 

“ Then,” said I, “ he will take the only other course that is 
possible. He will keep all the facts secret from her during 
the few weeks that you must still be confined to this house. 
A few weeks ! It may only be a few days before you are 
able to leave England. Out of the country. Dr. Norman 
cannot persecute you.” 

“ If it were only for a little time he might keep his wife in 
ignorance.” 

“ To be sure he might, ma’am,” said I ; “so you see it only 
depends upon your keeping a calm and hopeful spirit to get 
well, and put an end to the whole difficulty.” 

This was about all that passed between us. It must be 
understood that neither she nor I used exactly the same 
words I have written, but these are the heads of our conver- 
sation, and as near the form they took as I can at present 
recall to mind. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


301 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE NARRATIVE OF THOMAS CRAIK CONTINUED. 

I GAVE Esther Norton a faithful account of what had passed 
between Mrs. Norman and me — for I felt sure she had been 
listening at the door during our conversation — and that in- 
creased her confidence in me, and made her more amiable 
than ever. 

I had kept indoors since my arrival at Woldhurst, only 
going out for a little exercise after dark. The confinement 
and inactivity after so much movement and excitement 
wearied me excessively. It was not to be of long duration. 

The same evening as the foregoing talk had taken place, 
I went down the avenue about eight o’clock, and calling in 
at the lodge, asked the newly-installed lodge-keeper if anyone 
had called during the day. 

“ No, sir,” said he respectfully ; “ nobody but the trades- 
people.” 

“ Are you quite sure of that ? ” I asked sharply, detecting 
a little hesitation in his reply — “ are you certain no one at all 
has called ? ” 

The rascal looked at me uneasily, and then, fearing that a 
trap had been laid for him, thought it best to tell the truth. 

“ Wait a bit, sir,” said he ; “ now I come to think of it, a 
gentleman did call to ask if Captain Bromley was at home, 
and I told him that Captain Bromley was not come back 
yet.” 

“ And what did you tell him about Mrs. Bromley ? ” 

“ Well, when he asked about her I told him that she had 
come home ill. I hope I didn’t do wrong, sir ? ” 

Without replying to that, I cross-questioned him as to the 
appearance of the gentleman, and he, still, I believe, under 
the impression that I knew all, and was making these 
inquiries to test his reliability, answered me with tolerable 
straightforwardness. 


302 


FOUND GUILTY. 


From his description of the gentleman I had not the 
slightest doubt that it was Dr. Norman. 

“ What else did he ask ? ” said I. 

“ Nothing else, upon my oath, sir,” he answered. 

“ Nothing about me ? ” 

“ Not a syllable.” 

I believed the fellow. I told Esther Norton how he had 
prevaricated in the first instance ; but she was of opinion 
that he did that because he feared he had overstepped the 
mark in speaking of Mrs. Bromley. 

To have discharged the man on the bare supposition of 
his being unfaithful to us would have made him a dangerous 
enemy. 

Esther promised to caution his wife, the cook, and again 
declared her entire belief in their trustworthiness. 

1 felt more uneasy than ever the next day, hanging about 
the kitchen with the knowledge that Dr. Norman might 
be bribing the fellow down at the lodge to reveal our 
secret. 

While we were at lunch, the lodge-keeper’s daughter came 
up to say that her father wished to see me. I went down 
at once, taking a path from which I could not be seen from 
the road. 

“ He has been here again asking after Mrs. Bromley’s 
health, sir,” said the lodge-keeper. “ I thought it right to 
let you know at once.” 

“ Who has been } ” I asked. 

“ The gentleman who called yesterday,” he responded. 
“ He left his card ; there it is, sir.” 

I took the card, and read : 

Dr. Norman Norman., 

58, Villiers Street, Strand. 

This was a bold stroke, characteristic of the doctor. 

It increased my feeling of insecurity by the very fact that 
we could not then see what purpose was served by this open 
avowal of his visit. 

We were fighting in the dark, and every movement of the 
enemy inspired us with dread of an attack which we were 
unprepared to meet. 

Esther realized as fully -as I did that our reward depended 


FOUND GUILTY. 


303 

upon keeping Mrs. Norman out of her husband’s hands 
until the arrival of Captain Bromley at Woldhurst. 

The necessity of achieving this suggested a course to 
me which I think was quite as bold as that taken by 
Dr. Norman. I determined to go to Villiers Street and see 
him. 

d'he object I had in view was part of my scheme for 
getting the stolen letter, and as I did not intend that Esther 
Norton should participate in the profits of that undertaking, 
I said nothing to her of my intention to have an interview 
with Dr. Norman. 

Pretending that I was going to get, if possible. Captain 
Bromley’s address from Mr. Grote, the solicitor, I bade her 
farewell that evening, and went to London by the last 
train. 

The next morning I called at 58, Villiers Street. The 
servant who opened the door said that Dr. Norman was at 
home. I sent up the name of Peters, and was presently 
called upstairs to Dr. Norman’s rooms on the first floor. ' 

The breakfast things were on the table. 

The doctor was seated before the fire in his dressing-gown, 
with a newspaper in his hand. 

He was just the same in appearance as I had seen him 
day after day in his laboratory at the Moat. He was one of 
those men who seem never to alter. 

“ Well, Peters,” he said, in his customary tone of calm 
observation, “what do you wai)t here ? ” 

I closed the door, and standing hat in hand before him, 
tried to be just as calm and self-possessed as he. 

“ Dr. Norman,” said I, “ I won’t waste your time ; you and 
I know each other.” 

“ I have a pretty clear knowledge of your character, at any 
rate,” he replied. 

“ And my motives as well, I dare say, sir. You know 
what I’ve been trying after since the day I entered your 
service.” 

“ You have been trying after one or two things, and, like 
most persons who overrate their ability, you have succeeded 
in getting nothing for your pains.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said I. “ As far as profit goes, that is a fact. 
You and I are about equal in that respect up to this point.” 

“ What do you say ? ” he asked, not overpleased by this 
retort. 


304 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I say, sir, that we have both been playing the same game, 
and up to now neither of us is one penny the better off than 
when we began. What do you say to making it a draw, and 
dividing the pool ? ” 

“ You must not try to be clever if you wish me to under- 
stand what business has brought you here. Speak as if you 
were addressing your equal in intelligence.” 

“ Very well, sir, I’ll be plain. You have a letter from Mr. 
Howard by which his daughter, now Mrs. Valentine Bromley, 
can obtain possession of a quarter of a million of money. If 
your wife had committed suicide, and you had married Miss 
Howard, that letter would make you a rich man. At present 
it only makes you a thief.” 

He looked at me viciously for a moment, and then, as if to 
show his indifference, he turned to a side table and took a 
sheet of paper and an envelope. 

“ Go on,” he said, opening a pencil-case, and beginning to 
write. 

“ The letter,” I went on, “ is as valueless as the envelope 
you put in Captain Bromley’s bag. It’s a dangerous posses- 
sion from the moment I tell Captain Bromley that the Mr. 
Everleigh who disappeared on the day that letter was lost 
is the same person as Dr. Norman.” 

“You think you can make him believe that .^ ” he asked 
carelessly, whilst still writing. 

“ Yes, by the simple process of bringing you face to face 
with Captain Bromley and his wife.” 

“ You think to get money out of me by suppressing what 
you state as a fact,” he said, folding the written sheet. 

“ No ; my purpose in coming here is not to take money 
out of your pocket, but to put money into it.” 

He put the written sheet into the envelope, asking me how 
I proposed to do this. 

“ The lost letter is no good in your hands, as I have 
shown. It is worth a good deal in mine. I will buy it of you.” 

“ What are you prepared to give ? ” he asked, wetting the 
flap of the envelope. 

“ Five thousand pounds.” 

“ Hum ! that is just half of ten thousand, is it not ? ” he 
asked with the utmost complacency, rising and touching a 
bell. I did not feel so confident now. Evidently he knew 
the sum Mr. Schlobach was prepared to give. His coolness 
puzzled me. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


305 


“ Go on — if you have anything more to say,” he said, seat- 
ing himself. 

“ That is the offer I make,” said I. 

He did not reply, but addressed the envelope. As he fin- 
ished the door opened, and the servant came in. 

“ Take this to the nearest police-station, Mary,” said Dr. 
Norman, giving her the letter. 

She looked astonished. He repeated the instruction, and 
as she closed the door he turned to me. 

“ Do you know that a warrant is issued for your arrest on 
the charge of murdering Mrs. Norman, by setting fire to 
Beauchamp Moat 'i ” he asked. 

That took my breath away. 

“ I have just written to the police-office, informing them 
that you are here. If you have sense enough to see your 
danger, you will save yourself without delay. In any case, 
you will be good enough to relieve me of your objectionable 
company. I have told you once before that you are a blun- 
dering idiot. I have no sympathy with blundering idiots. 
Leave the room.” 

I withdrew, and with the greater alacrity as I heard the 
street door slam, and knew that the girl had gone to the 
police-station. And never before had I felt so insignificant, 
or so fully recognized the genius of Dr. Norman. He was a 
real master of strategy. All that I had done was as nothing 
compared with his achievement. My successes were the 
result of fortunate accidents, his the outcome of profound 
discretion, forethought, and subtle ability to fit the means to 
his end. 

I was forced to admire him. “ He will succeed,” I said to 
myself, with conviction. “There is no staying a genius like 
that in his course. I have no chance. If his object is to get 
Mrs. Norman into his hands again, he will get her ; and if 
he intends to get that quarter of a million besides, he will 
get it, though he has to kill his wife and Captain Valentine 
Bromley as well to obtain his end.” 

Would he kill his wife and Captain Bromley in order to get 
at the money which Mrs. Valentine Bromley alone could 
realize ? That was a question. If it could be done without 
endangering his own life, I had no doubt he would do it. 
These reflections came to me later in the day. For some 
time after quitting the house in Villiers Street, my mind was 
solely occupied with a regard for my own safety. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


306 

I saw perfectly well that Dr. Norman knew I had been 
staying at Woldhurst, and that if I returned there to oppose 
his plans he could have me haled off at any moment. By 
betraying Mrs. Norman, I could clear myself of the charge 
of murder ; but it would be less easy to show that I had no 
hand in burning down the house. 

In all cases it would ruin me to be caught. So I resolved 
to keep away from Chislehurst. Yet, had I been as sagacious 
then as I have been since the event, I should have seen that 
Woldhurst was the safest refuge I could take. For it is clear 
(now) that had not Dr. Norman wished me to escape, he 
would not have sent openly for the police, and that his main 
object was to get me away from Woldhurst. 

I caught a ’bus that was passing the top of Villiers Street, 
and was taken up Chancery Lane, through Holborn, and into 
Clerkenwell. There I got out, feeling that in that densely 
populated district I was pretty safe from pursuit. I sent a 
message to Esther Norton, telling her that Mrs. Norman was 
menaced with a new danger, and that the precaution for her 
safety must be doubled. “ I must stop here for a time ; I 
leave Mrs. N. in your hands with confidence,” I added. 

I received an answer later in the day at the coffee-house 
where I told her to address me. 

“ I will answer for Mrs. N.’s safety while I am here,” she 
said, “ but you had better come here to-morrow morning. I 
have received a telegram from Captain Bromley, and shall 
go to Dover to meet him to-morrow afternoon.” 

I was heartily glad to hear of Captain Bromley’s speedy 
return ; but I was at my wits’ end to know what to do about 
going to Woldhurst. I at length decided that Mrs. Norman 
must take her chance, for I was too fearful of apprehension 
by the police to venture there. I sent another message to 
Esther, telling her by all means to meet Captain Bromley,' 
and adding that if she did not see me before starting, she 
might be certain I was taking better means for Mrs. N.’s. 
protection. This was as near the truth as I thought it advis- 
able to go. I did not quit Clerkenwell. 

I received many messages subsequently from Esther, and 
sent replies. On the 29th of October I learned that Esther 
had met Captain Bromley at Dover the preceding night, that 
he had determined to carry out the plans we had laid, and 
that he had promised ample reward for our services in Mrs, 


FOUND GUILTY. 


307 


Norman’s behalf. This was cheering and satisfactory. I 
had achieved something, blundering idiot or not. 

She assured me later that there was no danger, that Dr. 
Norman had not again called, that the lodge-keeper had seen 
nothing of him, and that Mrs. Norman’s health was improv- 
ing so rapidly that in a short time she would be able to leave 
England. I determined to keep out of the way until she had 
left England, for being sure of reward there was nothing to 
gain, but a good deal to lose, by venturing near Woldhurst. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

FROM THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY. 

I DO not think I lost consciousness entirely. I remember 
plunging in the sea, the whirl in my ears as the water closed 
over my head, my being lifted into a boat in which there 
were two roughly-clad, weather-beaten men, and carried thence 
up steps and across a road into an hotel ; but these incidents 
are vague in my memory, as if they had occurred long, long 
ago. My senses were numbed, I had no power to help my- 
self, no will either to accept or refuse the help of others. 
The mistress of the hotel and her servant, to whom she spoke 
in Flemish, undressed me and put me to bed. I was glad 
of the warmth, and, like a dazed child, I drew the clothes up 
over my ears, saying to myself, “ What have I done t What 
have I done ? ” And I fell asleep because I was too stupefied 
to realize what it was I had done. 

When I awoke I found the two women sitting at the table 
working by the light of a lamp. The servant was knitting ; 
the mistress was sewing ; beyond them was a stove shaped 
like a vase, and red-hot. The heat was too much ; I pushed 
away the eider-down. As I moved the woman rose ; the 
servant went to the stove ; the mistress came to me and asked 
me in French how I found myself. But although I under- 
stood her, I was still too perplexed to answer. Then the 
maid came with a plate of soup and a serviette ; I took 
some, and it gave me strength and cleared my senses a little. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


308 

I questioned the woman, and found that it was nearly 
nine o’clock, and I had slept for six hours. She told me 
the gentleman had been to the door many times and asked 
about me, and she inquired if I would like to see him. I 
said no ; I wanted to sleep again, that was all. And refusing 
to eat any of the things she had prepared for me, I lay 
down and fell asleep once more. Some people have asked 
how I could sleep at such a time ; it is a mystery to me. I 
think it must have been because forgetfulness was so sweet, 
and my strength exhausted. When I again woke, the maid 
only was in the room, and she had fallen asleep in her chair 
with her knitting in her lap. 

I sat up, feeling now quite wide awake. It was half-past 
twelve by the timepiece on the mantel. My dried clothes 
were by my bedside. I noticed that my dress was no longer 
fresh, and that the trimmings were cockled by the wet. “ It 
is spoilt,” I said to myself with regret, remembering that it 
was the dress Valentine loved. Then I recollected that he 
was dead, and everything came back to my mind, and I saw 
more clearly all that had happened than I had yet seen it. 
There was no sleep for me after that, and no forgetfulness. 
Oh, those long, long hours of shame and indignation, of 
savage exultation and cowering remorse, of passionate hate 
and passionate love ! I could not rest in bed. I got up and 
dressed ; then I paced the room while the heavy maid 
breathed heavily in her sleep, and the busy timepiece went 
“ tick-tack, tick-tack,” in mockery as it seemed. I will not 
dwell on my sufferings. It is not for me to appeal for pity ; 
I had done wrong, and that was my punishment. It was 
no more than I deserved, though. Heaven knows, I would 
not inflict such retribution on worse offenders. 

The girl awoke before it was light, spoke to me in Flemish, 
fetched fuel, and lit the fire in the stove. Then the pro- 
prietress of the hotel came and said something to me, and 
I replied mechanically I know not what. Breakfast was 
brought, and I ate and drank a little. Soon afterwards, I 
being alone in the room, there was a knock at the door ; I 
said “ Come in,” and Mr. Everleigh walked in briskly with a 
smile on his face. 

“ I am glad to see you looking so much better,” he said, 
holding out his hand. 

I drew back my hand and shrank away, fearing he would 


FOUND GUILTY. 


309 


touch me. He raised his eyebrows with a look of pained 
surprise. Then, dropping his hand by his side, he bowed 
his head as if in humiliation. It mattered not to me whether 
he was pained or not. I had no pity in my heart. 

“ When shall you be ready to go } ” he asked, after a 
minute’s pause and in an altered tone. 

Go ! ” I exclaimed. “ Where ? ” 

“ To America ; a vessel leaves this afternoon. We must 
be at Antwerp before two o’clock ; we ought to start at once. 
There is the outfit to purchase.” 

“ I have no intention of going to America,” I said. 

“ Pardon me, I thought by your reply to my question that 
you had not decided where to go, and left your safety in my 
hands. It seemed to me that in going to America we should 
be safe from pursuit. Of course I shall be happy to accept 
any proposal you may make.” 

“ I have nothing to propose. If you think it advisable to 
go to America, go.” 

He smiled at me pityingly. 

“ What plans have you made for the future ? ” he asked. 

“ None,” I replied. “ I have thought only of the past.” 

“ Where shall you go when you leave here ? ” 

“ I do not know that I shall leave here.” 

“ What do you think will become of you if you stay ? ” 

“ I do not care what becomes of me. It does not matter 
to anyone.” 

“ You mistake — It is a matter of life or death to me.” 

“ I do not ask you to stay with me. I wish you to go. 
Leave me.” 

“ Is that the part of a brother ? ” 

“ A brother ! ” 

“ I have a brother’s feeling for you, though you may not 
have a sister’s consideration for me. Who but a brother 
would, at the risk of his life, have avenged your dishonor ? 
Have I no claim upon your generosity ? ” 

“ What do you expect of me ? ” 

“ Credit for the common feeling of a man.” 

I could only think of him as a murderer. It seemed to 
me impossible that he who had shot my husband should have 
any feeling. I was silent. 

“ Put yourself in my place,” he said ; “ think that you are 
a man, and placed in my position.” 


310 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ I am trying to do so,” I answered ; “ I am trying to justify 
you — and I cannot succeed. Had I been a man, called upon 
by a girl wrought to madness by jealousy to take the life of 
the one she loved, I would have waited until her reason 
returned before I lifted my hand.” 

“ Not if you had watched that villain as I have watched 
him, betraying your faith and love, deliberately preparing to 
abandon you, and making light of your ruin ? You would 
have killed that heartless scoundrel. You would have done as 
I have done, and as I would do again had that bullet missed 
his heart.” 

He spoke with fury in his voice and in his look. His 
anger was not yet appeased. Yet he imparted no vengeful 
feelings to me. That was strange to me even then, recollect- 
ing the fury that possessed me when I only suspected the 
wrong done to me. 

“ Valentine is dead,” I said to myself, and my passion was 
dead also. 

“ But that is not what I meant,” Mr. Everleigh pursued. 
“ It is my present position I ask you to consider. Would 
you in my place run away? Do you think I am such a 
coward, such a craven wretch, as to think only of my own 
safety ? Would anyone with a spark of manly feeling con- 
sent to leave you here, friendless, penniless, helpless, dis- 
tracted, and desperate ? Indeed you wrong me ! ” 

He paused, but I had no response to make. 

“ I have Bromley’s death to answer for,” he continued, 
“ and I do not shrink from my responsibility. But what I 
dare not face is the possibility of having yours on my con- 
science.” 

“ You fear that I shall again attempt to destroy myself ? ” 
I said. 

“ I wish you would tell me that it is a groundless fear.” 

“ It is a groundless fear. I could not bear my punishment 
yesterday; I wish to bear it now.” 

“ You give me your promise ? ” 

“ It is given. And now that you see I have no need of 
protection, leave me. I want to bear what I have to bear by 
myself — alone.” 

He stood before me in silence for a moment, looking at me 
with an expression that I could not understand. 

“ And you think we are to part thus,” he said bitterly. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


like two strangers who have been forced to take a common 
shelter during a storm. You dismiss me with less ceremony 
than if I had stooped to pick up your handkerchief.” 

“What do you want.?” I asked, wondering not less w'hat 
Ke could want than what I had to give. 

“ Nothing, but the privilege of a brother to watch over you 
— the privilege of a friend, of a mere acquaintance, to speak 
to you from time to time.” 

“ I cannot accept your help, I cannot think of you as a 
friend. If you could know how I feel towards you, you would 
spare me the pain^of saying this.” 

“ I know exactly how you feel. Thank heaven, that feeling 
will wear off, and give place to more healthy, less morbid 
sentiments.” 

I shook my head, and prayed within myself that I might 
die before I ceased to feel repugnance towards this man — for 
not to feel repugnance meant to be callous to my own shame, 
and remorseless for the sin I had done. 

He walked up the room in deep thought, and, returning, 
raised his head and looked at me with great earnestness. 
Suddenly stopping, he cried decisively : 

“No, I cannot leave you — I dare not ! ” 

“ Do you think I shall break my word ? ” I asked. 

“You will not break your word, I am certain of that. You 
will not again attempt self-destruction. But that is not the 
only danger ; and will you avoid danger, that is the question ? ” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ In a few hours the police will probably present themselves 
here and arrest you for the murder of Valentine Bromley.” 

“ What then ? ” I asked, and he could see from my face 
that the risk had no terror for me. 

“ Will you tell them that you are innocent .? ” 

“ How can I tell them that without lying ? I am not 
innocent. But for me he would be living now.” 

“ If they ask you whether you fired the bullet that went 
through his heart .? ” 

“ I will answer ‘ no ’ ! ” I cried eagerly. 

“ If they will not believe you, if there is no escape except 
by denouncing me as the murderer, will you denounce me ? ” 

“ No,” I answered, after some reflection. “ Nothing would 
induce me to say that you shot Valentine.” 

“ In that case,” said Mr. Everleigh, “ I cannot leave you 
here.” 


'312 


FOUND GUILTY. 


He paused, but seeing that I was perplexed to know his 
reason, he continued : 

“ Because only by denouncing me can you possibly escape 
being punished for the act I committed.” 

Just then the hotel proprietress entered with a book and 
an inkstand. 

“ What is this ? ” asked Mr. Everleigh, looking at the book 
she had laid on the table. 

She explained to him that it was a form which had to be 
filled up for the information of the police. 

He glanced at me significantly and wrote in the required 
particulars relating to himself, then he put the pen in my 
hand. 

The woman had turned to the stove, and was putting fuel 
into it. 

“ You see,” said Mr. Everleigh, speaking in a low tone not 
to be heard by the woman above the noise that she made 
with the coals, “ you see that there is already danger for you 
and me. Fill in the form.”- 

It was divided into columns, with printed instructions 
at the head of each. In the first my name was required, in 
the second my age, then my state, my place of residence, and 
my destination. What was I to write, having no name, no 
state, no home, no future resting-place ? 

“ I will write for you,” said Mr. Everleigh, seeing my in- 
ability. 

He wrote, “ Dorothea Bromley, married,” and then he 
stopped ; the place relating to our destination was blank. 

“ The moment has come for you to decide,” he said ; 
“ what shall I write here — America 1 ” 

“ No, no,” I answered quickly, for I sickened, not at the 
thought of going to America, that was unimportant to me, 
but at the prospect of being thrown into companionship with 
him during the voyage ; “ not that.” 

“ Then it is useless to fill up this form ; I may as well at 
once give myself up to the police, declaring the crime 
of which I am guilty.” 

I sought in my mind for an expedient by which I might 
avoid either course, by which I might take the burden of 
responsibility on my own shoulders, and free myself from' 
the debt to him. 

“ At least you will give me a chance of escape,” he said 


FOUND GUILTY. 


313 

impatiently ; “ you will lead my pursuers to suppose that we 
have left Europe,” and without waiting for my assent, he 
wrote “ Antwerp,” in the vacant space. 

As he handed the form to the woman of the house, he 
asked about the trains to Antwerp. 

The mail left the quay station at three o’clock in the after- 
noon, but an earlier one left the town station at nine ; the 
omnibus would be ready to take us in ten minutes. 

We left Ostend by the early train. There was an hour to 
wait at Brussels. Mr. Everleigh took me into the waiting 
room, bought some books and illustrated papers, and laid 
them on the seat beside me ; then he left me, saying he would 
return in half an hour. 

I dreaded him. I felt that his power was irresistible, that 
what he wished me to do I must do. My fate was linked to 
his by the act of vengeance he had committed at my bidding. 
But my soul recoiled from his. Vaguely I perceived that 
low as I had fallen, there was still a lower depth to which he 
was leading me. I could not define the condition that in- 
spired me with terror — it was like standing at the edge of an 
abyss impenetrable to the eye. I merely knew that it was 
an abyss, and that he was urging me onward. And with my 
dread of that grew an intense desire to free myself from his 
hands, to be at liberty, to follow the guidance of my own 
spirit wherever it led. 

I knew he meant that I should leave Europe, and with 
him, and that if I did not escape now, all hope of escaping 
afterwards was gone. Against my will he had brought me 
to this point, against my will he would make me go further. 
How could I cut my cords and escape this terrible bondage ? 

There was a continuous incoming and outgoing of people. 
I was unnoticed in the dark corner where I sat ! If I could 
only pass out with the crowd and escape into the city. I 
did not know Brussels, but I pictured it like London, and I 
thought how a little person like myself might escape in such 
a thoroughfare as the Strand and defy recapture. Was it 
not possible so to escape here ? And if it were possible, why 
should I not do so ? If I was safe here from him, I was safe 
from other pursuers, and he was no longer constrained by 
consideration of my safety to endanger his. What did I owe 
him ? Nothing that I could repay. I was a worthless bank- 
rupt. These thoughts passed quickly through my mind in 


FOUND GUILTY. 


' 314 

less time than I have taken to write them. I do not pretend 
that they were right or logical, or generous or just, but they 
seemed to justify me in escaping if I could, and that was 
everything. 

Mechanically I rose from my seat and went to the door 
through which he had passed. It opened as a lady with 
her children came into the room, and beyond them I saw 
Mr. Everleigh standing in the adjoining hall before a large 
bill on which there was a picture of a steamship. I could 
not pass that way without being seen by him. I went back 
to my corner and sat down again, but not in despair. The 
thought of escape had brought back a glimmer of hope. A 
feverish anxiety stimulated my imagination and excited my 
cunning. 

I observed that from time to time a porter unlocked the 
door opening upon the platform and called out the names of 
stations, and then the people who had been accumulating 
trooped out through the doorway. There, I saw, was my 
only chance. If I got on to the platform I should at least 
advance a step towards freedom. I felt my heart beat once 
more as I waited. 

Presently the porter opened the door and called out as 
before, and the people got up from their seats and pressed 
towards the door. I stopped until most had passed through, 
and then, with a last glance of fear towards the salle in which 
Mr. Everleigh was waiting, I fell in with the last of the pas- 
sengers and passed on to the platform. 

I kept amongst the crowd to avoid notice, and went to- 
wards the train standing by the platform, until at some little 
distance in advance I saw a projecting notice-board which 
indicated the way out. The next moment I was in the street 
and facing a row of voitures. 

The drivers flocked towards me. I stepped into the 
nearest. The driver shut the door and waited for me to give 
a direction. 

I was at a loss what direction to give him, knowing nothing 
about the city. 

“ Grand Hotel, Victoria Hotel, Beige Hotel,” said the 
driver, doing his best to speak in my language, as it seemed 
that I could not speak in his. 

“ Bristol Hotel — English ’ouse — very good — all right ?” 

“ Yes, yes ; Bristol Hotel,” I said quickly, terrified lest 


FOUND GUILTY. 


315 

Mr. Everleigh should discover my absence from the waiting- 
room, and prevent my escape. 

But I got safely to the Bristol Hotel. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

It was a large hotel in an open thoroughfare. I did not 
think I should be safe there. I might have to sign a police 
report like that at Ostend, which would betray me. Besides, 
I was beginning to awake to the practical difficulties of my 
situation ; I had no money save a few shillings, and those 
the driver took from me. How was I to live in an hotel 
without clothes or money ? 

I turned from the big street into a narrow turning, where 
I was less open to observation, and there, as I walked along, 
I set myself to answer the question, “ How am I to live .? ” — 
a question hard enough to answer by one who knew nothing 
about money, who had been from the earliest time cared for, 
and who had never done anything that could be called work. 

I must get money, but how ? I was willing to work, eager 
to w'ork — but what could I do ? I could not even undertake 
to do the work of an ordinary servant. Soon it would grow 
dark, soon I should feel weak from want of food. 

In this little street there was a dingy restaurant, where I 
might dine safely, I thought; and just at the corner, where 
it opened upon the Town Hall Square, a board hung outside 
a milliner’s announcing that there was a furnished lodging 
in the fourth story to let. That might do; but first of all I 
must get money. It was strange to find money so impor- 
tant, after the utter indifference with which I had treated 
the possession of it hitherto. Now it was absolutely indis- 
pensable — it was necessary to my freedom, to existence it- 
self. Imagine the strangeness of these things to me ! 

I had skirted one side of the square and entered a street 
full of bright shops, and was still wondering where I was to 
get money for food and shelter, when I saw in a jeweller’s 
shop-window a notice that diamonds were bought there. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


316 

Then I thought of the miniature portrait of my mother, which 
I had worn attached to a piece of velvet round my throat 
ever since Mr. Schlobach gave it to me. It was set round 
with diamonds. I peeped through the glass door. No one 
was in the shop but a venerable-looking old gentleman with a 
white beard. But I passed the shop again and again — three 
or four times — before I could find courage to go in, and then 
it was with a feeling of desperation. 

I told him I wanted some money, and took off the minia- 
ture and put it in his hand. 

He took it to the light and examined it closely with a glass 
stuck under his eyebrow ; then, taking out the glass, he 
looked at me almost as carefully, and asked me questions 
about the portrait, which I answered. He was very polite, 
but seemed puzzled to know how it came about that I should 
want money. 

“ You want to sell this locket, mademoiselle ? ” he asked, 
at length. 

“ Yes,” I replied ; and then, pained to think of losing my 
mother’s portrait, I added, “ but if you would put it by for a 
certain time until I can buy it again I should be very grate- 
ful.” 

“ And how long do you think it will be before you can 
repurchase it ? ” he asked, smiling. 

That was a question quite beyond my power of calculation, 
but I thought that perhaps in a few weeks I should be earn- 
ing money, and I told him so. 

“ Then how much do you want for it ? ” he asked. 

I said I should be glad to get what it was worth. 

“ Well, suppose I give you two hundred and fifty francs, 
mademoiselle ? ” said he. 

I replied that I should be quite content with that ; where- 
upon he put the portrait in a drawer, wrote out a receipt 
and gave it to me to sign. 

He had asked me if I were married, and with some hesi- 
tation and shame I had said “ No ” ; so now it was less 
trouble to sign my maiden name than if I had not been so 
prepared for that humiliation.” 

“ Dorothea Howard,” he said, reading my signature ; “ very 
good,” — then he took three notes from his desk and gave 
them to me. 

I went back to the dingy little restaurant in the narrow 


FOUND GUILTY. 


317 

Street and dined, for I felt faint and weak, and after that I 
went to the milliner’s shop where the lodging was to let. 

Madame Bichon, the milliner, led me up the crooked stairs 
— it was an old, old house — and showed me the rooms. 
They were quite at the top of the house ; one room looked on 
to the square and faced the beautiful Town Hall ; the people 
below looked no bigger than mice. Madame Bichon said it 
was very gay ; it did not seem so to me, for my spirits were 
very low. But there was plenty of light ; and the furniture, 
though scanty, seemed very clean and neat. Adjoining 
this room was another much smaller, with cooking utensils, 
plates and dishes, and that sort of thing. 

“ This is your kitchen, and here you can do your cooking ; 
there is everything that is necessary.” 

I was to be my own servant now. I had not thought of that. 

“ And then,” continued Madame Bichon, “ there is a good 
woman who comes in for the lodgers below who will fetch 
water and do the rough work if you do not choose to do it 
yourself, so that you can live like a grand lady for thirty 
francs a week.” 

“ That is the rent — thirty francs a week ? ” I said. 

“ Yes,” she said quickly ; “ and not at all dear.” 

I did not know whether it was dear or cheap, but I agreed 
to pay that sum, which is about twenty-four shillings in 
English money, and gave her a week’s rent in advance as the 
condition of taking possession of the rooms at once. 

How strange it seemed when Madame Bichon left me, 
and I sat alone in my room with the sounds from the square 
coming faintly to my ear, and everything so still around me, 
to cast my thoughts back on the turmoil and excitement 
through which I had passed. But I dared not let my mind 
dwell upon the past. It was all too horrible to look back 
upon. 

I rose from my seat and busied myself with thinking of 
my present requirements. I must go out and buy a change 
of clothes, and furnish my little kitchen with requisites. It 
was good to have something to occupy my thoughts, and 
even at that moment the romance of my situation seemed 
pleasant. Going in my kitchen, I looked round and made a 
mental list of the things I needed — fuel for the stove, bread 
and butter and coffee and sugar, and things of that sort. 

Before all this was settled, Madame Bichon returned to 


FOUND GUILTY. 


318 

introduce the old woman who was to do rough work for me, 
and her I engaged at once to light my bedroom fire, fill my 
two scuttles with coal, and fetch water. When she was gone, 
Madame Bichon gave me some useful hints with respect to 
housekeeping, telling me where to buy my groceries and meat, 
and warning me against the knavery of shop-keepers and the 
dishonesty of people in general. To hear her, one would 
have thought that no one but she in Brussels was honest ; 
yet I found, later on, that she had been the first to rob me — 
for the rooms I had taken had never before been let for more 
than nine francs a week. 

It was dark before my old woman had done all that was to 
be done in my rooms, and then, with the blind drawn down, 
the fire burning well in my open stove, and liiy lamp lit on the 
table, the room looked cheerful and comfortable. 

Now I felt I could go out with less danger of being seen 
by Mr. Everleigh, so 1 went downstairs, after locking my 
door, as Madame Bichon had advised me, and out into the 
street by the side entrance. 

It took me some time to make all my purchases ; some of 
the things I had sent home, others I myself took. But I did 
not care to stay indoors when all was done, for fear of think- 
ing, so I went out again, wearing a veil I had bought. The 
streets were very bright and lively with people and girls of my 
own age, looking as if they might be going home from their 
work, and others as if they might be on their way to places of 
amusement ; all looked cheerful and gay. I did not see any 
who seemed as if they had done harm in their lives, or bore 
the burden of a guilty conscience. 

I would not go home until I was quite weary, and when I 
was in my rooms I set to work to unpack the things I had 
bought, and arrange them in their places neatly. I was grate- 
ful for something to do. But when there was nothing else to 
occupy me, I was very wretched, as I sat down to eat the 
supper I had prepared. The silence made me feel so lonely. 
The sound of my knife on my plate, the movement of my 
chair and the like, all increased this feeling, because those 
sounds were solely the result of my own actions. 

“ There is no one like me in all the world,” I said to my- 
self, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep ; “ no one so miser- 
able and unhappy.” And then I could not help thinking of 
Faulcondale, though I kept my thoughts away from Valentine, 


FOUND GUILTY. 


319 

of Miss Trevor, with her prim sweet face and gentle manners, 
and of my dear guardian smoking his huge pipe and bearing 
patiently with my caprices and wilfulness, and of my old pony 
Coquelicot refusing stubbornly to trot when one was in a 
hurry and impatiently starting off when one wished him to 
stand still in meeting a friend ; and of the pleasant garden 
and the seat under the pear-tree, where Valentine had sat 
with me, listening to the nightingale. Then I could bear it no 
longer — my heart that I thought was dead was yet quick to 
suffer at the memory of happiness, and after checking myself 
for some time, I at length hid my face under the clothes and 
burst into an agony of tears — not of remorse for my guilt, 
but of pity for myself. 

It was a selfish indulgence to think of my own unhappiness 
and not of my guilt ; the suffering was less cruel, for I did 
not recognize my shame. 

I cried myself to sleep. It was light when I awoke. 
Someone was knocking at my door. I must have been 
dreaming of the old days, for I answered “ Yes,’' in English, 
just as if I had been called by our little maid at Faulcon- 
dale, and I could not understand why the windows were not 
latticed. It was the old woman who had come to light my 
fires. 

I made my own coffee, and very badly too — for I treated 
it like tea, not understanding the strainer, and the coffee came 
out floating on the top of some brownish-colored water ; and 
while I ate my breakfast, endeavored to make some practical 
plans for the future. I must work, certainly. My only hope 
of forgetfulness was in that. 

It struck me that perhaps Madame Bichon might help me 
in this matter. I had seen two girls working at the back of 
her shop ; perhaps she might want a third. And as she had 
shown herself very obliging, and begged me over and over 
again to go to her if I needed anything, I determined I would 
appeal to her. So, as soon as I had finished my meal and 
put away the things, I went down to her room and put the 
question to her without any circumlocution. 

“ Well what can you do ? ” she asked, looking less amiable, 
I thought, than I had yet seen her look. 

“ Nothing,” I replied ; “ but I think I shall soon learn, for 
I must earn my living. I have only about two hundred 
francs in the world.” 


320 


FOUND GUILTY. 


Madame Bichon said a great deal about the bad state of 
trade, her expenses, the difficulty of teaching a young woman 
who had not been accustomed to work, and so on ; but at 
length, out of consideration for my friendless condition, she 
consented to let me learn in her work-room if I would pay 
ten francs a week as a recompense for her trouble and the 
materials I should spoil before I could work to her advantage. 
I thanked her warmly for her kindness, and it was arranged 
that I should begin at once. 

I took my place in the little work-room behind the shop 
with the other girls, and Madame Bichon gave me a thimble, 
needles and thread, and some materials, and she spent the 
whole morning in showing me how to cover a bonnet-shape. 
I was very clumsy with my needle, pricking my fingers till 
the blood flowed, and doing no good at all. The two girls 
left off at times to look at me — then glanced at each other 
and looked down to conceal their laughter. My efforts must 
have been ludicrous indeed. But I kept steadily on, and did 
not much mind the whispering and covert ridicule of my 
fellow-workers — I had borne too much, had yet too much to 
bear, to be moved greatly by such a trifle as that. 

My back ached, and my fingers ached, and my heart ached 
when the time came to leave off for the day, and there was 
nothing to show for my pains but a bent shape and some 
spoiled stuff. 

It was a relief to be alone in my room and lie down be- 
fore making my supper. In the evening I went out again as 
I had done the night before, and walked until I was tired 
out. Then I returned home and went to bed with leaden 
despondency. What hope was there for me ? What was I 
striving for — to work in order that I might live and carry the 
burden of my shame and crime ! Who could draw hope 
from that source ? 

The days succeeded each other without variety. Madame 
Bichon gave me materials to work upon, and left me to work 
as best I could. A child could have done as well as I. It 
was absurd — my sitting there hour after hour spoiling 
materials and getting no further. If I had possessed a spark 
of merriment I should have laughed at my ludicrous failure 
fully as much as the girls did. But they took a malicious 
pleasure in my misfortunes — for they were jealous of a new 
hand, naturally. Every evening I went out, because it was 


FOUND GUILTY. 


321 


impossible to sit indoors alone ; my conscience would not 
let me rest — I could not read — I must keep on moving — mov- 
ing. That was the reason I went out. The walk itself gave 
me no pleasure ; how could it ? What was there in shops to 
tempt my eye ? Glitter and ornament were no more for me 
— all that was past. Friends meeting, lovers parting, mothers 
with their children, husbands with their wives — all these 
things seemed to mock at me and remind me of happiness 
gone, never to return. 

I kept out of sight when I could, for it seemed to me that 
all could read my condition who looked at me. Indeed, I 
thought I must have my shame imprinted noticeably upon 
me, for people looked at me with curiosity, even stopping to 
look after me when I had hurried past. It must have been 
my bearing that betrayed me, for I constantly wore a veil in 
the street to hide my tragic face. 

How old and worn I began to look ! but my face had no 
repose of age. It was wild and frightened. 

“ Soon my hair will turn gray,” I said to myself. What 
did it matter ? I no longer wanted to be beautiful. 

After five or six days the two girls seemed kinder towards 
me. Perhaps they saw that I should never succeed as a 
workwoman, and that there was no likelihood of my taking 
work out of their hands. Perhaps their hearts were touched 
with my patient endeavors to overcome difficulty, my melan- 
choly apathy, my friendlessness. 

One day when Madame Bichon had gone out to market 
the girls opened a conversation with me, and the elder of 
the two, after beating about the bush some time, asked me 
how much a week I paid Madame. , 

I told them thirty francs for my rooms and ten for instruc- 
tions — in all, forty francs a week. 

At this they both put down their work and looked at me 
in blank amazement. 

“ But if you can afford to pay that, why are you learning 
this trade ? ” asked one. 

“ That I may earn my living,” I answered, “ for in two or 
three weeks I shall have no money left.” 

“But do you know, my dear,” said the younger, “that we 
don’t earn forty francs a week between us, and we have 
been at it ever since we could use a needle.” 

It needed very little calculation to perceive that I was 

21 


322 


FOUND GUILTY. 


throwing away what little money I had, and that I was paying 
more for lodgings than a work-girl could afford. Indeed, 
they soon told me how I was being robbed by Madame, and 
advised me to get out of her hands before she had taken all 
my money, for that, they assured me, was her sole object in 
befriending me. 

I resolved to seek a cheaper lodging, but I said nothing 
that day to Madame Bichon, lest I should betray the girls 
who had warned me against her. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

That evening I discovered that I was tracked. 

I was passing one of the galleries, when I caught sight for 
the first time of a young man walking at the same pace with 
myself on the opposite side of the street. I saw at a glance 
that he was English — his face, his gait, and the ulster he 
wore were unmistakably English. 

I stopped for a minute before a shop ; when I turned I 
saw that he also had stopped. I went on more rapidly than 
before ; he quickened his pace. Just by the back of the 
Royal Theatre, where the street turned at an angle, he 
crossed. I heard his step gaining on me — he passed me 
looking sidelong, and a little further on he stopped before a 
shop. I passed, and again I heard his step behind me. 

I turned into the narrow street leading up to the Town 
Hall ; it was dark — there were few people there. I regretted 
at once that I had taken that turning, but there was no go- 
ing back. And now once more I heard his quickening steps, 
and the next moment, coming to my side, he touched his hat 
without raising it, and said : 

“ I beg your pardon, ma’am, but would you be good 
enough to tell me, and no offence I hope, if your name is 
Mrs. Valentine Bromley? ” 

It occurred to me at that instant to reply in French. 

“ Est-ce que cela vous regard ? ” I asked sharply. 


FOUND GUILTY, 


323 


“ Confound the lingo !” he muttered, and then, touching 
his hat again, he apologized, and let me go on without further 
molestation. 

But he was not satisfied ; I turned in crossing the square, 
and saw him watching me from the pavement. 

I took the turning leading to the Post-office, and believing 
that I had misled him, I returned by another street towards 
the square, and hurried up to my rooms. 

I was but little excited by this incident ; having nothing 
to hope for, I liad scarcely anything to fear. I took off my 
bonnet and jacket, and went about preparing my supper ; 
and when it was ready I ate and drank, and then put the 
things away. 

This occupation was scarcely ended when I heard a foot- 
step on the stairs and a knock at my door. 

“ They have come for me,” I thought ; “ it is so much nearer 
the end ; ” and I went to the door. 

To my surprise, the person who stood there was Mr. Ever- 
leigh. 

“You are surprised to see me,” he said, bowing as he en- 
tered the room. 

“ No,” I replied ; “ you have set men to track me.” 

He must have misunderstood me, for he showed no sur- 
prise as he replied : 

“ There was no need for that. I have not lost sight of 
you for a day since you left the North station. You will 
permit me 1 ” 

Without waiting for my assent he seated himself, after 
placing a chair for me. 

“ When I found you were gone,” he continued, “ I went 
on to Antwerp and took a couple of berths in your name and 
mine in the vessel that left for America that afternoon ; and 
that, as I know, has completely thrown our pursuers off the 
scent. I came back at once to Brussels, knowing you must 
be here, and the next evening I saw you in the Rue Royal 
and followed you here. I have seen you every night since, 
but to-night I missed you. You have not been out, or you 
have come in earlier than usual.” 

He spoke with a certain tenderness that implied that his 
surveillance had been that of an anxious friend and not of a 
persecutor. 

“ I refrained from speaking to you — I purposely kept out 


324 


FOUND GUILTY. 


of sight, for I know what you felt,” he pursued. “ But not 
seeing you to-night I felt very anxious — my anxiety has per- 
haps made me indiscreet.” 

“ Why did you return } ” I asked, having nothing better to 
say. 

“ Because I knew that sooner or later you would want a 
friend. And I am a friend. Miss Howard — an earnest, 
sincere, devoted friend, believe me. I have no wish to press 
you to any course against your inclination ; but my regard 
for your safety was paramount. When your safety was secured 
I was anxious that you should go your own way as long as 
that was possible — that is still my anxious wish. If you tell 
me that I am still an object of repugnance to you, I will go 
away — not from this city, but from you : you shall not see 
me again, if I can help it and you desire it ; but I cannot 
cease to watch over you. I am deeply responsible. I have 
thought continuously of the past, and see that I did wrong to 
act upon the sanction given by you in a moment of jealousy 
and madness. I did wrong to take vengeance into my hands 
even for your sake. It is a duty to see that no harm comes 
to you ; it is my own solace to know that in the moment of 
need I shall be at your side to help you.” 

He paused, looking at me with grave solicitude ; and then 
with a voice that trembled slightly he added : 

“ Surely it is not an unwelcome thought that one heart 
beats in sympathy with yours, that one friend lives for you ? ” 

I could not say that the thought* of him was repulsive to 
me. Why should I hate him ? If he had committed a crime 
it was at my bidding. I was fully as guilty as he. 

Reading what was in my mind, he continued in the same 
low, persuasive tone : 

“ I know what you have suffered — the despondency, the 
desolation, the bitter want of all hope and consolation ! 
What young creature could stand alone in the midst of gaiety 
and combat the misery of knowing that all mirth and joy has 
passed from her life ? ” 

I turned my head away, for this picture of my hapless 
state touched my heart, and brought the tears up to my poor 
eyes. 

“ That burden is too heavy to bear,” he continued ; “ one 
cannot live without hope.” 

“ Alas ! one can,” I murmured. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


325 


“ For a time ; but only for a time. One’s physical nature 
demands relief, and the struggle to obtain it overcomes moral 
opposition too often.” 

“ Do you mean that I shall grow callous to my shame ? ” 

“ That is what you have to fear. You are human ; you are 
young. Hope alone can save the wretched from abandoning 
their souls to destruction. Hope must save you ! ” 

“ What hope is there for me .? ” 1 asked despairingly. 

“ The hope of doing good ! ” he said in a deep, earnest 
tone. 

It was a shock to me, as it might be to a condemned prisoner 
were his dungeon walls to fall and reveal the bright heavens 
to his eyes. 

“To lead an unselfish life,” he continued, “ a life of self- 
sacrifice — raising those who are fallen, encouraging those 
who, like ourselves, suffer, working that others may rest, 
watching that others may sleep, leading those who have gone 
astray into right paths — that is how we may obtain forgive- 
ness of our own sins, and happiness ! ” 

A cry of joy escaped me, for I was greatly moved with the 
thought of doing good, of lessening in others the woe I my- 
self had felt. 

Mr. Everleigh laid out his plans, telling me of a part of 
America where the people were living in a state of savagery ; 
where men respected no law, human or divine ; where the 
weak were abandoned ; where the women were treated as 
slaves, and little children with less tenderness than was shown 
to dogs. He said that missionaries dared not venture near 
the brutal colony. 

“ But what have we to fear ? ” he asked ; “ we do not go to 
teach a creed, but to exercise humanity — to help those who 
are in need, without question of merit or desert. Will they 
bear you ill-will because you clothe their children and heal 
their sick ? What purpose will it serve them to ill-treat those 
who only seek to serve ? They rob themselves if they take 
our lives ? ” 

“ And if they take our lives — what then ? ” I asked. “ I 
would rather die trying to do good, than live without 
hope ! ” 

“ I am sure of it,” he answered. “ I understand your 
nature. Miss Howard — understand it so well that I can fore- 
see every movement of your mind. I have reckoned upon 


FOUND GUILTY. 


326 

your co-operation in this great work from the first. I have 
only waited to open my scheme to you until you were ready 
to receive it.” 

He did not suffer my ardor to abate, and he, who usually 
was so cool, methodical, and circumspect, grew feverishly 
excited as he went into the particulars of his scheme, showing 
me notes he had made in his pocket-book, and explaining the 
particular work he should undertake, and that which would be 
mine. It was all complete ; nothing seemed to have escaped 
his attention. 

“ And now,” he said at length, “ I think I have given you 
a rough outline of all. The rest is detail. The first indis- 
pensable step you have doubtless foreseen.” 

I considered a moment, and then I shook my head — for I 
really could not imagine what the step was he referred to. 

“ You must be my wife,” he said gravely, “ That is an inevi- 
table necessity which you will see when you reflect upon what 
we propose to do.” He rose as he spoke. Taking his hat 
from the table, he added: “ I will say no more now. I will 
not ask you to decide at once. You are excited. You must 
have time for reflection before undertaking a work of such 
magnitude, before taking a course that is not to be retraced.” 

He who read my thoughts and perceived my feelings so 
accurately must have seen the chill his words produced upon 
me, and the repugnance I felt to the idea of marriage — the 
inexplicable horror which the thought of personal contact 
with him inspired in me — for he did not offer me his hand, 
but with a low inclination of the head closed our strange 
interview and withdrew. 

For a long, long while I sat revolving in my mind all that he 
had said, but chiefly the condition upon which all else seemed 
to depend — the condition that I should be his wife. 

It was, as he had said, an inevitable necessity of the case. 
We could not work together in our present relations ; we 
could not live amongst strangers under the false pretence 
of being brother and sister. We must be man and wife. 

Considering I was as great a criminal as he, I could not 
tell why this proposal should be revolting to me. If I had 
indeed been Valentine’s wife, I was now his widow, and free 
to marry again. Why then did the prospect of marriage seem 
so loathsome to me ? That it did was a fact — it was so hor- 
rible to my senses that it robbed the prospect of a higher life 


FOUND GUILTY. 


327 


of its delights, and all the glamour my imagination had shed 
upon the undertaking disappeared. 

Yet I felt that it must be — that the opening he had shown 
was the only issue from the sepulchre in which I stood. He 
had given me time for reflection, because, knowing the work- 
ing of my mind, he foresaw that the result of reflection must 
be the acceptance of his proposal. 

“ In a little while, maybe in a few days, I shall be his wife,’’ 
I said to myself. My conviction was as strong as that of a 
fatalist who sees that, however he strives, the predestined 
end must come. 

These reflections were interrupted by a knock at the door. 
A young man asked if my name was Howard, and then put 
a packet into my hand, saying it was from Monsieur Beau- 
lavon. 

I did not recollect the name until I opened the packet. 
It contained the diamond-set miniature I had sold. 

Then I remembered that the jeweller’s name was Beau- 
lavon. 

There was no note with it ; the messenger was gone, so I 
could ask him no question. But there was little need of that. 
Only one person could have redeemed the portrait and sent 
it to me, and that was Mr. Everleigh. 

Coming just then, the incident increased the profound im- 
pression of Mr. Everleigh’s irresistible power over me. Noth- 
ing was impenetrable to him ; I had no secret that he could 
not discover. 

A feeling of awe was the only emotion I experienced. I 
was not grateful for the gift, though the portrait was dear to 
me, and its restoration showed delicate feeling and gener- 
osity on his part. If it had come from anyone else, I should 
have been deeply moved with gratitude. I asked myself why 
I could not look upon him as a friend, and I could not an- 
sw'er the question. I know now that it was because I still 
loved Valentine. Yes, though I would have banished him 
for ever from my thoughts, the love of Valentine still 
rested in my heart. That very night an incident occurred to 
prove it. 

It was about eleven o’clock when I went to the window to 
draw down the blind. The room seemed close and hot ; I 
opened the window, and, tempted by the soft freshness of the 
air, leant upon the sill and looked down into the square. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


328 

The people had not yet begun to stream home from the thea- 
tres ; only now and then persons crossed the open space 
under the lamps. I followed them with my eyes without 
seeming to see them, for my thoughts were still dwelling upon 
Mr. Everleigh and his scheme. 

I do not know how it came about, but suddenly I found 
myself looking with breathless interest at two figures below. 
One was a tall, big man, the other smaller, and wearing a 
long coat. They stood still for a minute while the smaller 
indicated with his hand the street leading down to the post- 
office. It was he who first attracted my attention, for I 
thought he resembled the man who spoke to me in the street 
— Dr. Norman’s servant, Peters ; but it was his companion 
upon whom my attention was concentrated after the first 
moment. At that distance, and viewed from that position, 
it was only possible to recognize well-known figures ; features, 
especially at night and under the gas, were indistinguishable. 
Yet by some strange power that presence was made known 
to me, and I recognized that man down there. Had we 
been standing face to face and but a yard asunder, the im- 
pression could not have been more vivid. Not a doubt 
crossed my mind — I believed I was looking at my murdered 
husband ! 

While he stood there I did not breathe — I could not move 
— every faculty seemed absorbed in contemplating that 
spectre ; but when he turned away the spell wa^ broken. I 
started from the window, and flew like a mad creature down 
the stairs and into the street. I had some vague idea of over- 
taking the two men. It was only when I reached the other 
side of the empty square that reason told me the vision I 
had seen was merely the creation of my disordered imagina- 
tion. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


329 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONTINUED. 

The next morning I went down into the work-room as usual 
— albeit it seemed to me more useless than ever to struggle 
against my fate. The girls had shown me the impossibility 
of earning a living there ; Mr. Everleigh had pointed out the 
path that I must take. What other course was open to me ? 

At twelve o’clock I went upstairs to prepare my dinner. 
Madame Bichon met me on the stairs, and, reminding me 
that I had now been a week with her, begged that I would 
pay the sum due for the coming week, as she had a bill to 
pay and she was short of money. I promised to comply 
with her request at once. 

I had been warned against leaving my door unlocked, and 
hitherto I had been careful to secure it. But this day I 
found it unfastened. 

It is quite probable that I had left it so — my thoughts 
were so far away, my mind so distracted and weary with the 
perturbation of a sleepless night, that I might well have taken 
the key mechanically from the lock without turning it. Be 
that as it may, when I went to the little drawer where I had 
the night before put my newly-recovered miniature with 
the silver that remained of the two hundred and fifty francs, 
I discovered that all had been taken away. The drawer was 
quite empty. 

This would have been a terrible blow had I been making 
progress as a workwoman, and looking forward with hope to a 
state of independence; but in my present condition it af- 
fected me hardly at all. What is one blow more or less to a crea- 
ture whose spirit has been broken by the hand of adversity. 
I do not remember feeling regret over my loss. Certainly 
I felt no animosity towards the person who ' had taken it. 
I thought that the poor wretch whose necessities or propensi- 
ties drove him to rob a poor girl like me was indeed to be 
pitied for having no feeling in his heart. 


330 


FOUND GUILTY. 


I think it was my apathy in this regard that put it into 
Madame Bichon’s head that I was telling a lie. She could 
not understand how one losing all should make so little 
noise. Poor soul, she was the very reverse of me in that 
respect ; you would have thought it was she who had been 
robbed. I never saw a woman more excited over a trifle ; I 
dare say it irritated her because she was herself a loser, since 
I could no longer occupy her room or pay for instruction in 
millinery. 

She became very angry, accusing me of designs which 
could have entered no head but her own, of lying and decep- 
tion, and added many other injuries which I do not care to 
remember. But the upshot of all was that I must leave her 
house that day, and cease to spoil materials in her workroom 
which I could never pay for. 

I returned to my room, packed my few eifects in a little 
parcel, and then put on my bonnet. 

While I was doing this, Eulalie, the elder of the two girls 
employed by Madame Bichon, came to me. She had taken 
advantage of Madame’s absence to leave her work. 

“ It is not true, dear, is it ? ” she asked, laying her hand 
upon my shoulder. 

She was a kind-hearted girl when not under the influence 
of jealousy. 

I pointed to the empty drawer. 

“ I believe you,” she said, kissing me ; “ you English girls 
don’t tell lies. But your coolness is incredible — you have no 
passion.” 

“ We are not always cool. When we have suffered a great 
deal we have no passion for little things.” 

“ That is what I said. You have suffered a great deal. 
Ah, it is a hard world, and there is no pity for poor girls who 
have to work honestly.” 

“ Yes, it is a hard world,” I said. 

“ And where are you going to now ? ” she asked. 

“ I do not know.” 

“ Have you no friends ? ” 

I hesitated, for with that feeling of dread and repugnance 
in my” heart, could I call Mr. Everleigh my friend ? 

“ Oh, I understand,” she continued ; “ you do not want to 
be helped in that way.” 

I shook my head. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


331 


“ But if you have no money ? ” 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

“ And you have not any idea of where you are to go, or 
what you are to do ? ” she asked. 

“ No. When I go out of the door I do not know whether 
I shall turn to the right or the left.” 

“ Hold,” said she, putting her hand in her pocket. “ You 
shall share my room until you are able to get one for your- 
self. There is my key. It is at the corner of the Rue 
Augustine, the furrier’s. You go through the courtyard and 
upstairs. My room is at the top — like this. There are two 
staircases. But the little staircase is being repaired, so you 
must take the grand stairs past the porter’s lodge. He will 
let you pass if you tell him my name. I shall not be home 
before nine — there is so much to do — but you will find the 
lamp all ready,. and the fire laid in the stove. And you will 
make your supper just as if you were at home. When I 
come home we will have a long talk, and see what is to be 
done to-morrow. Trouble is not half so hard to bear when 
one has talked about it w'ell.” 

I accepted the kind girl’s invitation, and thought it would 
be nice to talk to her, and tell her what I could of my un- 
happiness, when night came. She would not wait for me to 
thank her, but kissing me again, she said she must return to 
her work before Madame Bichon came back, and so ran 
downstairs as noiselessly as she had come up. 

I found the furrier’s at the corner of the Rue Augustine. 
There was a gateway beyond the shop, leading to an open- 
paved courtyard. It was a large, new house. There was 
an exterior staircase communicating with the covered gallery 
that on each floor ran round the space occupied by the 
courtyard. There was a heap of lime in the yard, with some 
blocks of stone and pieces of iron work ; the steps were 
soiled with the footmarks of workmen. I saw that this was 
the staircase used by the servants, the tradespeople, and the 
poorer lodgers. Near it was the porter’s lodge. I men- 
tioned Eulalie’s name, and the porter, pointing through the 
door to a wide flight of carpeted stairs, told me to wipe my 
feet and go up — mademoiselle’s room was No. 6, on the fifth 
story. 

I passed along a corridor on the fifth floor, and opened the 
door marked No. 6. It was a small room, with one window 


332 


FOUND GUILTY. 


looking on tlie Rue Augustine ; an open door showed the 
little room used by Eulalie as a kitchen. There was yet 
another door, which I supposed opened on to the gallery and 
the outside staircase. 

It was getting dusk when someone tapped at this door : I 
unlocked it, and found a man on the threshold. 

“ Pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, “ I heard you moving 
about, and I thought I might just speak a word in case the 
porter had forgotten to warn you. We’ve got the ironwork 
away, and it would not be safe for anyone to go down this 
way, especially in the dark.” 

He pointed behind him as he spoke, and I perceived there 
was no protection to the narrow gallery on which he stood. 

It was nothing to him, accustomed to such dangers, but 
it made me shudder to think that a slip of the foot, a false 
step, would throw him headlong to the courtyard below. 

I thanked him, and when he was gone, hastily shut the 
door and turned the key. 

I sat by the window until the gas in the streets was lit, 
and it was too dark to read ; then I lit the lamp, and strove 
once more to fix my attention on the romance I had picked 
up. From time to time I looked at the little timepiece on 
the chimney to see how long it would be before Eulalie came 
from her work. 

It was seven o’clock — there were yet two hours to sit alone 
— when I heard a quick step in the corridor, and the next 
moment, without the ceremony of knocking, Mr. Everleigh 
opened the door and came in. 

He panted for breath ; he was more excited than ever I 
had seen him. 

“ Doris,” he said, put on your hat — there is not a moment 
to spare. You are discovered ; they have hunted you down 
— the police.” 

“ I know it,” I replied ; “ one of them spoke to me yester- 
day.” 

“ Who — what sort of a man ? ” he asked quickly. 

“ A man in a check ulster.” 

“ I thought so — damn him ! ” he muttered, stamping his 
foot. “ Quick, quick — your bonnet ! ” 

As he spoke he went to the door, half opened it, and 
listened. 

He turned, and seeing that I had not moved, he cried 
impatiently : 


FOUND GUILTY. 


333 


“ Why are you waiting ? Don’t you understand ? — you 
are in danger ; they may be here in another minute. I saw 
that fellow who spoke to you last night go into Madame 
Bichon’s. A minute earlier he would have met me coming 
out. You must come with me at once, I tell you.” 

I felt that the supreme moment was come. If I yielded 
to his command and went with him I must accede to all he 
proposed afterwards. It would be impossible to go back 
from that. My whole life must be henceforth linked with 
his. I must be his wife. It was that last reflection that 
provoked me to resistance. Every possible evil, weighed 
against that, was light. I could not, I would not be his wife. 

“ Save yourself — leave me here,” I said. 

“ I have told you before,” he said, “ I will not go without 
you.” 

“ Then you must share the fate that waits me here,” I re- 
plied firmly. 

“ Madness, madness ! ” he cried. “ You have not a penny 
in the world, you have no prospect but degradation and 
misery. I offer you an escape from the worst fate that can 
befall a human creature : a noble life is before you — a life 
of happiness — the means of saving your soul from eternal 
perdition.” 

“ I cannot accept that life — I will not,” I answered, ani- 
mated by an instinctive knowledge that I was doing right in 
refusing. 

“ This is the obstinacy of a fool ; I will not listen to it. I 
am your master ; I order you to come. You shall obey ! ” 

He spoke with intense passion ; it awed me. I stood 
trembling, my will faltered — as my physical strength might 
have given way in a struggle with his. 

He had purposely left the door open. At that instant his 
quick ear caught some distant sound. He passed out of the 
room and into the corridor. 

Relieved for a moment from the terror of his presence, my 
courage returned, and I strung my nerves to withstand his 
power to the utmost of my strength. 

He came back quickly, shut the door, turned the key in 
the lock, and shot the little bolt as well. 

Then he looked around him in desperation, and catching 
sight of the other door, he said : 

“ That door — where does it lead to ? ” 


334 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ The gallery over the courtyard, but the ” 

“ I thought so. I noticed the staircase as I passed through 
the court,” he said, interrupting me with a smile of triumph. 
“ Here is your bonnet,” he added, catching it up. “ Come ! ” 
and he caught hold of my wrist. 

“ No,” I cried, clutching at the table and drawing back ; 
“ nothing shall induce me to go. You shall not take me 
while I have strength to stay here.” 

He threw my hand from him with a cry of rage, and folded 
his arms, looking towards the door, where I now heard the 
sound of feet. Suddenly he glanced round the room, and 
catching sight of an inkstand on the broad window-sill, he 
went there, at the same time thrusting his hand in his breast- 
pocket. 

He drew out a folded paper, opened it, and wrote with 
marvellous rapidity. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“ Who’s there ? ” he called in French, still writing. 

“ Open the door,” answered a voice in English. 

“At my convenience,” muttered Mr. Everleigh, dashing 
off the last word. 

“ This way, sir, this way ! ” called the voice without ; “ he 
is in here. I know his voice for all his parleyvoo ! ” 

Mr. Everleigh had turned to me at the table with the 
paper and a pen ; with forced composure, he said : 

“ I can save you yet. Sign this paper — or come with me.” 

I took the pen at once — I would have done anything to 
escape from him. 

The writing was large and plain, although executed with 
rapidity. These were the words that I saw at a glance : 

■ “ I authorize you to pay bearer all that stands to my 
credit.” 

Beneath this I wrote, “ Dorothea.” 

“ Bromley nee Howard,” commanded Mr. Everleigh. 

There was no time for discussion. I wrote as I was told, 
and as quickly as my trembling fingers would move. 

Scarcely had I finished when there was a crash at the 
door, cracking the panel, 

Mr. Everleigh took the paper from beneath my hand. 

Then a voice beyond the outer door cried : 

“ Doris, Doris ! ” 

My heart ceased to beat ; it was my husband’s voice. 


FOUND GUILTY. 


335 


I could not answer ; I seemed to be paralyzed. 

It was but for an instant, for while Valentine’s beloved 
voice was yet ringing in my ears,. I heard the sharp click of 
a key shooting the bolt of a lock, and turning my eyes, I 
perceived that Mr. Everleigh had opened the door leading 
to the outer gallery. All was black beyond him. 

I screamed loudly with horror — I could not articulate a 
word to warn him from his fate. It was all instantaneous. 
I saw him standing with the light upon him against the 
darkness as the door swung back, and the next moment he 
strode forward and disappeared. 

There was a cry from the black abyss, and then a dull 
thud. 

I fell upon my knees — struck down by the shock of that 
awful catastrophe. 

My cr}^ had been heard, and those without, thinking the 
harm had come to me, threw themselves against the door 
The lock gave way, the door fell back with a crash, and 
Valentine rushed forward, followed by the other men. 

He looked round the room wildly ; he could not see me, 
for the table by which I had fallen came between me and the 
light. 

I could not speak — I crouched there like an inanimate 
being — I was not strong enough to hold my own against 
these shocks ; but when, not seeing me, my husband strode 
towards the open door of the gallery, his danger awoke my 
faculties. I sprang up, and threw myself in the doorway 
with one thought in my mind — if he went out by that door 
he should take me with him, and we would perish together. 

That was not to be ; others there knew the danger that 
lay beyond the door, and laid hands upon him. 

But the danger averted from him menaced me. A giddi- 
ness seized me — figures swam before my eyes ; I tottered on 
the threshold, reeled, and knew no more. Valentine it was 
who saved me, catching me in his powerful arms, and carry- 
ing me to a place of safety. 


336 


FOUND GUILTY 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE NARRATIVE OF DOROTHEA BROMLEY CONCLUDED. 

The first person I saw as I opened my eyes on recovering 
consciousness was Mr. Schlobach. 

“ It is all right, it is all right ! ” he cried, his face beaming 
with delight. 

Then I looked upwards and saw my dear husband, for he 
was supporting me in his arms as I lay on the little bed, 
and I flung my arms round his neck, and buried my face in 
his breast, crying, “ Valentine ! my husband! Valentine I ” 
forgetting in the joy of finding him alive that I was not his 
wife. 

He would have lifted my face to kiss me ; but I was 
ashamed, knowing that I had willed his death, and turned 
my eyes away. 

“ No, no,” I said; “I sent him to kill you. The shot he 
aimed at your heart was at my direction.” 

“ He fired no shot at me, Doris,” said Valentine. “ It w^as 
not that way he struck at my heart. He told you a lie to get 
you into his power and take you away from me, my darling,” 
and, saying that, he forcibly lifted my face to his and kissed 
it. 

But I resisted still, for now the memory of his offence 
against me returned. I released myself from his arms and 
went to Mr. Schlobach, and, standing beside him, I looked 
at Valentine for a i^oment in silence and sorrow, wondering 
how one who looked so noble could be so base to me. 

“ Thank Heaven 1 my guilty wish was not executed,” I 
said, ihy voice quavering on my trembling lips. “ I am glad 
you live, Valentine; there is no wish for vengeance in my 
heart now.” Then, turning to my dear old guardian, I said : 
“ You know all, you forgive me ; we will go away together — 
not to the old house, but where I am not known.” 

“ I will not take you away from this room,” cried the pro- 
fessor stoutly, though the tears in his eyes belied the stern- 


FOUND GUILTY, 


337 


ness of his words. “Till Valentine has forgiven you I will 
not speak — not speak to you again ; ” and he could scarcely 
say that for the emotion that choked him. 

“ What am I to believe ? ” I asked in ama^.e. 

“ Anything but the lies of that infernal villain who calls 
himself Everleigh.'’ 

“ It is not for you to ask forgiveness,” said Valentine. “ I 
would not have had you do otherwise than you have done, 
seeing what you saw, hearing what you heard. It is for me 
to explain, and to ask forgiveness for a want of confidence in 
you. 

“ What happened on that night at Chislehurst I have learnt 
from the confession of the lodge-keeper, who was paid by 
Everleigh to connive in misleading you. 

“ The lady you saw at my table, and acting the part of my 
wife, is my sister ” 

“ Mrs. Norman ? ” 

“ Mrs. Norman. To escape from her husband she took 
refuge in the house at Chislehurst on the eve of our return, 
and there assumed the character of my wife. For her sake 
I kept up that deception, knowing that her husband was in 
the neighborhood. I thought it best to keep this a secret 
from you then, for I was under a promise to my mother to 
conceal the fact that Edith is her daughter.” 

I would not listen to any further explanations, but throwing 
myself into Valentine’s arms, I sobbed and cried against his 
breast, which was the only way in which I could then show 
my contrition and appeal for pardon ; then my weeping turned 
to hysterical laughter, as I thought of being jealous of Edith, 
Valentine’s sister. I longed to repair the injury I had done 
her in my heart, and then, thinking of her danger, I said : 

“ But is she not still in danger .? What has become of her 
husband. Dr. Norman ? ” 4 

“ His fate you know. Dr. Norman and Mr. Everleigh are 
one and the same person.” 

I was overcome with amazement, and trembled at the recol- 
lection of the danger I had escaped in refusing his hypocriti- 
cal scheme of missionary work. 

“ But,” I asked wonderingly, “ what can have been his 
motive in hazarding so much ? ” 

“ I would hazard more for the love of you,” said Valen- 
tine. 


22 


338 


FOUND GUILTY. 


“ But it was not the love of you that inspired him,” said 
my guardian ; “ a man is better for such a love as that. It 
was your fortune he was in love with, and no man was ever 
the better for being in love with money that does not belong 
to him.” 

About that time the young man who called himself Peters, 
but whose actual name was Thomas Craik, ran into the room, 
breathless with excitement, and said to Valentine, who 
stepped aside to meet him : 

“ He is dead, sir, down in the yard there — dead — with the 
paper in his hand, signed by Mrs. Bromley. The police 
won’t let me have it.” 

The paper that he had made me sign was the letter stolen 
from the cottage — the letter from my father which entitled 
me to a quarter of a million of money. 

We stayed in Brussels until the police inquiry respecting 
the death of Dr. Norman was finished, and my father’s letter, 
which had been the cause of so much unhappiness, and 
had brought Dr. Norman to that terrible end, was given 
up to me. 

We did not forget the kindness of the two girls who Ijad 
befriended me ; Valentine and I enabled them to open a little 
business for themselves. 

On landing at Dover we were met by Mrs. Norman and 
Dr. Bullen, who had come to London during the search for 
me — Valentine having telegraphed at once to him to know 
if I had returned to the old cottage at Faulcondale, and had 
stayed at Chislehurst after Valentine’s departure to take 
care of Mrs. Norman. 

And we all went to Woldhurst — to my real home ! 

I must not forget to tell that this happy conclusion to all 
my troubles was in a great measure due to the ingenuity and 
ability of Thomas Craik, who had traced Dr. Norman and 
me to Ostend, thence to Antwerp, and back to Brussels. It 
was he who had spoken to me that evening in the street, 
and whom, with Valentine, I had seen in the great square. 
In recognition of his services Valentine settled an annuity 
upon him, which has enabled him to live very comfortably 
in the country, where he has developed a strong taste for 


FOUND GUILTY. 


339 


sport, and keeps a fast-trotting pony. We expected that he 
would marry Esther Norton, who had a certain kind of 
cleverness like his, and was seemingly very fond of him. 
But he told Valentine that two of a trade would not agree, and 
married Eliza, the good, red-cheeked little maid who had 
served us at Faulcondale. 

Mr. Schlobach lives near us also ; scarcely a day passes 
without a visit from him. 

It is always pleasant to us women to talk about marriage, 
and so it pleases me to tell that the kind old clergyman. Dr. 
Bullen, has lately made Mrs. Norman his wife, and has 
exchanged his living at Orwell for one in Kent, so that we 
often have the pleasure of seeing him and his still young 
wife. 

I should like to say something about my own happiness, 
but I find it the most difficult task of all, for the little events 
that may vary the even current of our joy, marking its 
course with sparkling delight, would need a finer hand than 
mine to render justly. I have three children ; their birth 
is not amongst the small events. 

Have I shed a tear — has my heart ached since I came 
home with my beloved husband? Not once, save when 
memory dwelt upon the day of our separation. 

The story of those terrible days is a remarkable one. I 
was talking about it this afternoon to Dr. Bullen, 

“ When I first heard it I could scarcely believe it possible,” 
said he ; then he added in his careful, grave, and senten- 
tious nanner, “ and I am not the first who has hesitated to 
accept the truth because it is strange, nor shall I be the 
last ; for it is in the nature of us, being imperfect, to discredit 
matters outside the limited scope of our own observations ; 
which is, nevertheless, a fault which we should endeavor 
to correct, for otherwise we stand in danger of becoming 
materialists, as I have more than once pointed out to my 
congregation in my sermons on miracles. ” 


THE END. 


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FOUND GUILTY 


BY 

FRANK BARRETT 


AUTHOR OF 

“LOVE AND HONOR,” “A PRODIGAL’S PROGRESS,” “ KITTY’S FATHER.” 

ETC. 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth Street 


Chicago; 266 & 268 Wabash Avb. 


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